An Eye for the Wicked
by RedLipsMarie
Summary: He didn't trust her for shit. She was more prone to flight than a fight and even more irritating, she had a staring problem. As Merle would put it, she was simply "a no-good lil' Mexican girl." Unfortunately when you're forced to spend day in and day out with the same damn people you get to know them on an invasive level, and Daryl's pissed to find that Rita Fuentes ain't so bad.
1. Remember the Simple Days?

_**Chapter One: Remember the Simple Days?**_

I loved to watch the world go by, yet I wondered why I wasn't running to catch up with it. That was my problem in life: always thinking and never really doing. I was continuously badgered by my family for it, but there's not much a person can do about their own nature, especially when it dictates the very fabric of your well-being… or what you think is best for yourself, however you want to word it. Maybe I had my childhood to blame for my somewhat reclusive nature.

I'm not about to point out a specific culprit, though. I never liked to cling to the past.

Typically when my thoughts carried me away, I would gaze out the window of the 4th floor apartment I shared with a roommate in the relatively quiet town of Abbeville, South Carolina. The sticky southern heat bore down on the people that walked the streets below. I chuckled as I spotted my married neighbor leering at a dirty-blonde woman in a midriff baring shirt and jean cut offs, sweat clinging to her toned body. She smiled his way, and he went back to washing car in a newly nervous manner. I could see why a pretty person would bloom on a day like this.

I on the other hand hated the heat, and loathed each day such as this that I had to step out from my air-conditioned safe haven. Work required it, of course. That's why I moved here from north California in the first place, a reason that contrasted with my mother's disillusionment that I wanted a good relationship with her. June was always telling me how much our 'momma' missed me. Still, I never gave any signs of interest.

I stepped away from the window. That's enough thinking for now…

After an hour of throwing something together for dinner, the familiar jangle of my roommate's keys scratched on the door.

"Afternoon, darlin'. How goes it?" Jeff closed the door behind him, grocery bags in hand and that big, gap-toothed smile on his face. He reminded of a young boy at times… "What'd ya make?" He sniffed the pot, wrinkling his nose as though he already deemed he didn't like what was cooking. A young boy… in both appearance and actions.

"Spaghetti, you half-wit. The noodles are boiling."

"Alrigh' alrigh', no need for name calling! You feelin' hospitable tonight, chef?" I couldn't help but smile at that.

Most would be put off by the idea of a man and a woman of close age living together in a completely nonsexual manner, but I'm more put off by the idea of having to share an apartment with a female who would flip moods just as easily as I, PMS or not. Besides, Jeff was more than amiable and could make anyone crack a smile even on their crappiest days, and I needed that in my life. He's good people, that's for sure.

"So git this" he began as he grabbed a bowl and filled it with the contents of the pot once I finished, "Friend'a mine up in Charlotte tells me a lady worker of his gone missin'. Ain't nobody seen her in a few days. Checked her apartment, otha places, nuthin'!" He moved his hands as he talked, paying no attention to the food he just piled in front of him. "Then they spread the search, lookin' everywhere, go on down to a park 'bout two miles from where she lived, an-"

"Do I want to hear the end of this story?" I felt my face contorting in an unpleasant way, implying that I probably didn't want to know since I was already thinking of horrible ways this ended. Of course, Jeff kept going.

"But you needa hear this! Keep yerself safe!" I chewed on my bottom lip, and nodded for him to continue. "Anyhow, the coppers find this lil' lady. Only… she wasn't all there, if ya git my drift. Rita-girl, they found her _torn the fuck up_. I'm talkin' chainsaw massacre kinda thing, or my Pa leadin' a cow to the slaughter. Hardly nothin' left o' her, they didn't even know it was her 'til they ran her blood in the system!" I felt my stomach twist and drop in a less than comfortable manner, but I held my tongue as he carried on "Poor girl, kind lil' thing he said she was. No one can figur' who'd do it to her, say maybe it was a loon. I mean there's motive, but the way this girl was ripped apart, you'da think she committed a sin against God himself!"

"And now I've lost my appetite" I snapped. I closed up the pot and stalked out of the kitchen only to hear the pound of Jeff's heavy boots following me. He took my shoulders and spun me around, looking at me in a way that made me raise a brow. "What?"

"I'm bein' serious, Rita" he insisted, and I knew he meant his business when he left out the 'girl' tagged on that created my annoying nickname. "Be careful, 'specially after dark. People been goin' missin' all over lately, and this lady ain't the first to show up like this."

I patted his hand, then went so far as to pull him into a hug. "You're saying there's been more murders like this?"

"I'm saying you gotta watch your back." He looked at me with such an intensity, I thought he'd burn a hole into my skull. "Don't want nobody I care for ta end up like that. Friend'a mine is frightened outta his damn mind over it."

I nodded, and ran my hands up and down the long sleeves of his shirt, attempting to soothe him. "I'll be fine Jeff, you worry about yourself. Besides, it's in Charlotte… whoever has a penchant for mutilation is miles away from here." He gave a curt nod but still looked stricken. I gave him one last squeeze, then turned to head into my room for some much needed peace. "Oh, one more thing" I stopped in the hallway to turn back to face him. "Do they have any leads?"

"Kinda narrows it down some sonnabitch who…" He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

"… Who what?" I pressed.

Jeff looked out the window briefly, then back to me. "Found some bite marks on what was left of 'er. Thought it was an animal attack at first, but…"

I waited for a moment, then "But? Just spit it out."

I could hear his teeth grind together, like he'd rather not think about it at all, let alone tell me. "… But the impressions in 'er skin was made by human teeth. Least that's what it looked like."

_xxx_

A few days later, my constantly sputtering Nissan '99 finally gave out on me and I decided I really couldn't put off getting it fixed any longer, or else I'd have to ride Jeff's old bike to work more than once. It was embarrassing enough as it is that I had to ride it there today. I made sure to stuff my tailored black pants and button up blouse deep into my messenger bag, underneath all my other crap so they wouldn't have a chance to fall out. Being an overweight girl, I hated wearing these tight leggings, but I wasn't about to sweat it out in work clothes. I suppose I'd make the most of my situation and not look at anybody as I wheeled by.

I took a few deep breaths, swallowed my bout of self-consciousness, and pedaled out of the private parking lot of my apartment building. _Don't look, don't look, don't look! _I stuck to the side walk, eyes trained ahead of me to avoid any uneven pavement. I thought I heard someone call out, but I ignored it. _Pedal, pedal, pedal…_

Working at a hospital, you'd think I'd take heed to all the obesity awareness going on. I wasn't obese, but I definitely could skip a burger or two. That, and I wasn't even a medical practitioner of any kind: I simply filed billings, records, and all that jazz. A keeper of important documents, if you will. There's a fancy name for it, but whatever. I went to college for some kind of medical degree, truth be told, but when I saw this career as an option and realized it was a pretty awesome pay and not too taxing on the hours of my life compared to that of a nurse or doctor, I clearly favored my newly found option.

That was me: constantly taking the easy way out, and never having remorse for being a self-proclaimed lazy ass. It made sense, it made life easier. I guess you wouldn't call it lazy, really… just "not reaching full potential", as my dad would say. Smart, but unmotivated. Not that he's complaining either, as long as I'm doing something with my life. What about romance, you ask? A special someone in my life? Pfft, forget it. I've had exactly one, count 'em, ONE sexual partner in my life, and I haven't bothered adding to it ever since. I didn't want to think about how long it had been.

Back to the present, though… this bike ride was becoming rather enjoyable. I wasn't thinking about being looked at with snide smirks, but rather how the wind felt on my face. The heat wasn't getting to me as I feared it would, seeing as how sweltering it was yesterday. The slightly warm air felt nice… I breathed it in, rode for another 20 minutes without a negative thought, and pulled up to the Abbeville Area Medical Center. I locked the bike up, adjusted my bra under the white sport shirt, and ran inside. I had less than 10 minutes to clock in, meaning I only had time to change.

I wasn't the most orderly-kept of people, as my job would lead you to believe. I tore off my bike-ride clothing, not caring that they landed on the bathroom floor, and yanked on my work clothes. Added some deodorant, a spritz of sweet spray, and I was good to go at the check-in desk. I smiled as I approached the voluminous red-head Darcy, who acknowledged me over her wire-rimmed glasses, "I see you're takin' my advice on being more active, darlin'?"

My smile immediately turned into an eye roll. "No, I had to ride my roommate's bike because my car is being stupid. Can I just have my badge, please?"

Darcy chuckled, handing me my ID card. I quickly clipped it to my bosom as she scribbled down my name and muttering "Rita Fuentes, present. See ya at lunch, honey."

_xxx_

I stared down at the pile of papers and manila envelopes on my desk, frowning. I turned to David Carmichael, who sat quietly to himself, sorting through his neat stack. "What the heck is this?" I nearly growled, "Why does it seem I have twice as much of a load than you do?"

"The boss likes me better," he cracked.

"David. Seriously."

He giggled like a boy a bit more then said "Schiffer called in sick. Said he ain't feelin' well, think maybe it's a cold or sumthin'. Fever 'n everything. Asked me if I could bring him some soup after work, that big pussy."

"Language, David" I chided.

"You cuss more than me!" He protested.

"Outside of work," I smiled, not so bothered by the mess anymore since Tommy was sick. He was here every day, never complained about a busy day or night. This was the first day he didn't clock in, which made me think it must've been pretty serious if he stayed home. "So you're going to stop by, right?"

"I'm thinkin' about it. Maybe if he lends me some Playboys and Penthouses, I will."

"You're gross."

"But the ladies loooove me!"

"Your hand doesn't count, David" I winked at him, and he pouted. "Nor do the busty ladies on magazine pages." We shared a few more laughs, and he went back to his computer as I went to organizing.

_xxx_

A few hours later, David called me over to his computer desk, his face crinkled into concerned forehead lines, "Rita-girl, come getta gander at this." He clicked a few files to set up a listed format, where we could see patient's names, sex, age, and diagnosis in neat columns. He pointed under the diagnosis column and I followed his index finger streaking down the screen: name after name, every diagnosis read in bold red typing "UNKNOWN".

I frowned, licking my lips nervously. "Typos?"

"Not this many, don't ya think? Not all at once" he countered.

"Click on one, read the file, then compare it to another" I suggested. He did as instructed, and I read the symptoms paragraph out loud "High fever, vomiting, thinning of the veins, profuse sweating and fluid leaks…" I trailed off when I further read the description. "'Possible form of rabies'? They were bitten by animals?"

"It doesn't say" David's voice shook as he spoke, and clicked on another file—it bore the same symptoms and description. "There've been a few cases like these 'n the past two weeks, but this is the first day I've seen such a crazy number. There definitely wusn't this many a few days ago. Think it's a new virus? A contagion?"

"Your guess is as good as mine." I didn't want to read the files any further, and returned to my desk. "Just… do your job, David. It's none of our business getting too detailed with those pages, anyway."

"But aren't you freaked out?" He protested, then stared at the screen in sudden realization. "Holy shit… what if that's what Schiffer's got?" I stared back at him, unsure of what to say. Then he pressed "Maybe I should go check on 'im. He might have to come in to get examined, get some help. He really didn't soun' good, Rita-girl." I chewed on my nail thoughtfully, still set in a nervous posture.

"I don't know what to tell you. If he does have it, which we're not sure if he does… c'mon, this is just a wild guess, you're being paranoid just because you're looking at all this crap."

"I'm gonna go check on 'im to be sure, though. If it is contagious, I'll take a surgical mask with me, jus' in case." He stood, looking at the clock as he grabbed his sweater from back of his chair. "It's my lunch break anyway."

I forced a smile, trying to lighten the situation as best as I could, "What's with the sweater? It's sticky noon in South Carolina."

"Never know when it might rain, honey. Said it yerself: it's the south" he smiled back and winked. "See ya, Rita-girl." He logged off his profile, pushed his chair in, and pinched my cheek playfully before he walked out.

That was the last I'd heard of Tommy Schiffer and the last time I saw David Carmichael.

_xxx_

**A/N: I love reviews, so please leave them! This was an introductory to the rather lifeless world of Rita Fuentes, and things are definitely gonna get to be a bloody good time next chapter. Thanks guys!**


	2. The First of Many

**A/N: Big shout out to Leyshla Gisel and NixyKnight! Your reviews keep me going!**

_**Chapter Two: The First of Many**_

_xxx_

"Still no sign of him, Darcy?" I approached the front desk tentatively, unclipping my badge and handing it to her. My co-worker hadn't returned for the rest of our 6 hour shift, and wasn't picking up my calls. The red head pushed her wire rimmed glasses back up her nose, and looked at me sympathetically as she shook her head. I felt my worry further gnaw at me as I pulled out my cell and called David again. I listened to a few hopeful rings, but was only greeted by his friendly voice mail. I sighed and hung up. "See you tomorrow, Darcy."

"Don't trouble yourself 'bout it, darlin'" she reached over her desk and patted my hand. "I'm sure he jus' got caught up in sumthin'. He'll be back askin' for an excuse later" she smiled. I knew she meant well, but I couldn't help the sinking feeling in my gut. With this weird virus or whatever going around lately, there was this unabashed doubt in my mind… almost like I **knew** the worst had happened; this wasn't typical of neither Tommy nor David. I gave a half-hearted smile to Darcy in return, adjusted my messenger bag, and turned to walk down the corridor.

Usually, it was quiet whenever I'd leave this late. Tonight, though, I heard the coughs and hacks of the sickly. I walked by a room that hadn't been closed completely by a nurse, and to my "good" fortune, I passed by just on time to see a man contort and vomit dark fluid onto the tile floor next to his bed. My nose crinkled, and I walked over to shut the door for the sake of his privacy, but not before he looked at me- his expression made my hair stand on end. His eyes were an odd blood-red color dabbled with yellow; his skin seemed papery in color and thinness, his veins visible especially on his neck and forearms. The wheezing that exhumed from his black-stained mouth and the vacancy of his expression was almost enough to make me cry. A gargling sound erupted from him as he reached a hand out to me, for what I was unsure, but I shook my head and mumbled an apology before I shut the door. "Darcy" I called down the corridor knowing she was still in ear shot. She looked up from her desk expectantly and I pressed "Page a nurse for room 26. This guy's in bad shape."

She was a good distance away, but I could still see her frown as she responded "Are you sure he's in that room?" When I nodded, she mumbled something about "stupid nurses" and said, "That patient was declared dead 46 minutes ago. Newbie musta gotten her rooms mixed up."

I gave one last wave as I entered the elevator, trying my best to forget the look on the man's face. That patient in room 26… his face, above all others, is the one that haunts me to this day.

_xxx_

As I unchained Jeff's bike from its safe post, I frowned when I took note of the absent ambulance vehicles. There would typically be one or two present while the rest were out, but the parking lot seemed rather empty. I ran my tongue over my lips, trying to ease my sudden nervousness by focusing on getting on the road. I began riding along the same pavement I took to get to work, thinking only of how happy I was to be going home after being shaken up today.

Even though it was only a little past 8pm, I knew I had to get pedaling as fast as I could. Maybe it was the paranoia getting to me- maybe it was the feeling of impending terror brushing the back of my neck. What the hell is going on? Why was I feeling like this? I didn't have a sixth sense, or something else to give me a clear cut answer. It was all in my head, right?

As I hit the pavement and turned down the street that cut through a park, I wasn't worried about being stared at- instead, I was looking around wondering why there wasn't the bustling noise of the night people that thrived during the night with drinks and music. There was hardly anyone around, which again made the bile rise in my throat. It was one thing to have a noisy medical center at this time, but to hardly hear a stir on the**street**? The threat of barfing was growing greater as my panic reached an intangible height. _Cut it out. Calm down, Rita. _I forced myself to quiet my thoughts, pedaling so fast the world around me seemed to go by in a blur. It helped ease me, but only to an extent.

I reached the parking lot to my building, chaining the bike to its proper place, and practically raced up the stairs to my apartment—Jeff was there. Safety was there. I'd call in sick tomorrow or some shit because even though it was probably most of my own doing, I was on the verge of a panic attack and I needed some kind of assurance.

When I reached the floor of my apartment, I was embarrassingly out of breath to the point where I had to lean over the rail to calm my lungs. I really needed to go on a diet, sheesh… or at least work out more. I walked over to my door, fumbled with the keys a bit, then pushed it open- and felt my stomach burst with butterflies at the sight of the man sitting at the coffee table. All my fears and paranoia were left at the door when he looked up and smiled at me. It was Jeff's ridiculously hot best friend Hank Prior, a slow-drawling, kind, and humorous guy he'd known since high school. Six feet tall of pure southern masculinity with bright, warm brown eyes and frazzled, hay-colored hair that he usually kept at a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck, I'd been crushing on him since he first shook my hand when Jeff introduced him to me. Of course I'd never had the balls to ask him out or anything... Why bother, seriously?

"What're you doing here, Mr. Prior?" was the first thing out of my mouth. Sure it sounded rude, but he hadn't been over in a while…

"How many times do I have to tell ya to call me Hank, honey?" He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners of his eyes to make a wide smile that made it harder to breathe. "My daddy is Mr. Prior and is addressed so by the farmhands. So please, call me Hank. Can't ask ya enough."

"Okay" I mumbled, closing the door behind me. "Where's Jeff?"

"Takin' a shit, I think."

"I heard that!" Jeff's voice came from his room, "Don't believe that sonnabitch, Rita-girl! I'm just siftin' through some stuff." I laughed as I dropped my messenger bag to the floor, walking over to the window and peeking outside—no one was on the streets and I felt my unease returning. I shut the curtains, leaning my forehead against the cloth briefly. _It's all in your head. It's all in your head…_

"… Ya seein' it, too?"

I blinked, snapped out of my reverie, and looked back at Hank. "What?"

"People goin' missin'." He said a bit quietly, all traces of laughter gone from his voice. "I thought it was just me noticin' it at first, but Jeff sees it too. 'N that look on your face… says it all, Rita-girl. You're afraid. 'N I hate to say it, but you probably should be." I stared at him, unsure of what to say. "Turn on the news" he said suddenly. I obeyed without question, and switched on the piece of crap T.V. that Jeff had refused to replace. I flipped over to a designated news channel, and put up the volume; I tried not to squirm as Hank rose from the coffee table and sat close to me on the couch. _Not now Rita, not right now…_ But try as I might, I could not cease the tingling in my lower belly. For someone who had just turned 23, I still reacted to the opposite sex like a silly teenage girl in high school… ugh, gross.

We caught the story right on time, it seemed, and a shot of a woman with a short blonde bob and too much make up came on the screen.

"_**With the alarming number of people missing and hospitals spiking with numbers of this new illness, people are concerned with the possibility of a widespread pandemic. The states of South Carolina, North Carolina, Kentucky, Georgia, and some within the mid-west have been making claims of people dying after receiving a bite from apparently, other people, and not animals as first reported. News of this terrifying illness remains to be seen within the far west, and citizens have begun to head towards those infection-free states. **_

I thought briefly of my father back in Sacramento, California, and of my sister who lived with our mother in the suburbs outside of Atlanta, Georgia. I made a note to give them both a call tonight.

"_**The symptoms of this illness vary, the most common seeming to come in the form of a common cold. Fever, sweating, chills, and vomiting, but if this happens after a bite or scratch from another human being, this could mean fatal infection and people are urged to check themselves into the nearest hospital immediately to avoid further spreading to non-infected citizens. That said, there are no clues or answers from neither the government nor medical experts as to what exactly caused this virus to manifest. We only urge you, the public, to remain cautious and aware of this rising threat. On that last note: we strongly suggest that you do not make contact with infected people. They have been shown to be aggressive and display cannibalistic attacks. This is Rebecca Carson reporting live from the Abbeville town center, back to you, news anchor Harold Grisham.**_

As soon as it switched back to the somber looking anchor man and woman, Hank muted the T.V. "This isn't the only channel reportin' it" he said slowly. "Switch it to any other one, 'n you'll see they're sayin' the same things." He first looked at me out of the corner of his eye, then turned his body fully to look at me. "Rita-girl, I know Jeff's been tellin' you to be careful, but…" his large hand came down on my hand, both resting on my knee. I was too shaken to acknowledge the intimacy of the contact, and only continued to listen as he spoke, "But this seems like something that's bad now, and is gonna get worse. Only a fool would think this is jus' gonna 'go away'. People are sick, dyin', then comin' back— "

"What!" I interjected quickly, disbelieving the full magnitude of his words. "C-coming back? These people are _dying _and… reanimating, is what you're telling me?" Hank winced, like he wanted to take back what he said, but it was too late. I looked at him, waiting for him to fully explain the truth.

"I'm not… sure, really. But yeah. Other stations been reportin' that people are dyin' from bites and scratches, but comin' back as the infected—with this kinda animalistic cravin'. I hate bein' the one to tell ya this, but ya should know."

I bit my lower lip, trying to digest this new information. Just as I was about to interrogate Hank further, Jeff came back into the room with a satisfied look on his face. "Found it!" he sighed, pulling out a handgun from the waist of his jeans. I looked at him, alarmed, and Jeff put the gun back at his waist. "Look, Rita-girl" he began before I could say anything, "Times like these are testin' our survival, methinks. I'm not the only one gearin' up these days. I'm actually gonna stop by the weapons keep in downtown 'n stock up to the best my finances can afford."

"And what's the gun for right **now**!" I seethed. "You're gonna go trigger happy on a sick person! They need medical attention Jeffery, **not **to be put down like some animal!" I could see Jeff's temper rising in the way his neck flushed scarlet, and he strode over to me, lowering himself to my level to look me in the eye.

"Rita" his voice almost seemed to tremble, "You haven't seen 'em. They been walkin' around with this look on their face… like they dead already. 'N I believe they are. They ain't human no more, in my eyes. And it seems effective if you git 'em on the head, be it a bullet or smashin' 'em with somethin'. Anywhere else… they don't go down for very long."

I shook my head in horror, my chest beginning to hyperventilate. "Jeff, how… how do you know all this shit? What… why would you…"

"Went to visit his Pa today" Hank cut in, squeezing my hand harder, "Two of his farmhands… were eatin' the cows. And one of the other farmhands was…" He didn't need to finish for me to imagine the terrible truth.

"We was only actin' out to protect my Pa" Jeff pleaded. "They came at us… 'n I smashed them sonnabitches with a shovel. They kept getting' up til I came down on the head… then they was good as dead. If Hank hadn't been there to back me up, I don't think I'd made it home today, Rita-girl." I shook my head, unable to fathom what he just told me. "Somethin' ain't right with the world right now, and we gotta get to somewhere safe. I been hearin' that Atlanta is preparing shelter 'n safes houses for the survivors, 'n people already workin' on a cure for this shit. It ain't so bad here in Abbeville at the moment, but if it does get to that point… I hope we won't be too late to leave."

"Also hear that the military is getting' involved" Hank added. "They're bein' posted in the bigger towns, 'n I seen a few of 'em comin' through here. Let's hope they don't gotta stay for damage control."

I wasn't much of a person with words, especially after hearing everything Jeff and Hank had to say. I was terrified out of my mind, but I knew I wouldn't be of any comfort to these equally shaken men if I didn't put on a brave face, even if it was fake. I swallowed noisily, and finally looked back up to Jeffery, then to Hank. "What… do you suggest I do? What do **we** do?"

Hank stared hard at me, then looked back to his best friend. They both seemed to have an unspoken agreement exchanged with their looks.

"We gotta teach you how to shoot, Rita-girl."

_xxx_

**A/N: Thank you again to those that reviewed, I hope you keep enjoying! Any critique, questions, or suggestions of what'd you'd like to see are welcome.**


	3. No Place Like Home

**Chapter Three: No Place Like Home**

_xxx_

"Rita, I'm only gonna tell you one more time: take the fucking gun _NOW._"

"You don't have to be an asshole about it…"

"I ain't playin' with you, **take** the gun!" Jeff barked, and I jumped in response. In the two years that I had lived with the man, never had I seen him raise his voice to this height or act in such an alpha-dog manner. I guess the fear in everyone's heart as of late was bringing out people's true colors, Jeff's included. He stood differently, even walked and talked differently, held a constant stony look in his eye that was a far cry from the Jeffery Dunn I thought I knew. I didn't know how to talk to this new Jeff, and Hank noticed. To Hank's credit, he would pull the other man aside and speak briefly with him, and Jeff would return in a calmer state.

You see, I had never held a gun in my life.

Growing up with a hippie dad and a socialite for a mother, guns were never supposed to have a role in my life in any way, shape, or form. So you could imagine my shaky introduction to having one of the world's most controversial issues handed to me. I was so keen on **not** holding the semi-automatic, Hank had to force my fingers to curl around the handle. I bit my lip, trying my best not to toss it aside. _I can do this… I __**have**__ to do this._

"Now see, that wasn't so hard, Rita-girl" Hank spoke softly as he rubbed my back, like he was comforting a child, and I suddenly felt stupid. "First, you're gonna learn the components of the gun. That's most important, okay?"

Hank himself was rather quiet these days they were training me. He'd make his input when he felt he needed to, and was a grim reminder to us and about the ever rising numbers of the sick. He kept himself and us up to date about everything he absorbed from the media, and as we soon learned, his personal encounters.

One day he came over in his work clothes, ink-shade blood splattered on the lower half of his shirt and pants, a ghastly look painted on his face. He managed a clothing outfitters store outside of Antreville, a town about a 20 minute drive away. He didn't have to say much for Jeff and I to put possible scenarios together as to what happened, but I later overheard him talking to Jeffery with his head lowered in his hands— he had chopped a little boy to avoid being bitten. The boy, now one of those **things**, had been gnawing on the corpse of a cat on the garbage dump side of the store. The boy came at Hank so quick, the man had no choice but to bash the kid's head in with a board that had multiple bent nails protruding from the end of the wood. He told the few workers that had showed up to go home and be with their families, for these were trying times, and we needed to hold onto the ones we loved most. He hadn't gone back to work since. In Jeff's case, he was fired when he refused to show up for the mechanic he worked for. Turns out that same boss of his, including some of his employees, were torn to shreds days later at his own shop. Jeff became even more silent and somber, realizing that being fired had possibly saved his life.

I felt like I was losing him.

Whenever I'd reach out to give him a reassuring touch, he'd flinch or brush it off. I'd wake up to the whines of the sirens at night, and when I'd tip toe down the hallway of our apartment, I'd see Jeff sitting at the coffee table staring numbly at the door, gun in hand.

My sister kept telling me he'd come around again. June and I spoke every night since my ordeal at the Medical Center, for I felt like she was the only one I could fully express my fears to. I told her I was afraid of these changes, afraid of being thrust into a future where I'd have to learn how to use a gun… a gun against _people_. Granted, they didn't behave like people anymore, according to Jeff, Hank, and the news. I hadn't gone outside in weeks. I was grateful not to have encountered one yet… _Walkers_, Jeff said the media had coined the term. Those who were infected passed on to the next life, only to come back again as a reanimated corpse. _The ones that walked after death... Walkers. _I once woke up from a nightmare, a replayed memory of that sick man I saw on the last day I attended work. I had the sinking feeling he had been one of them, one of these feared creatures.

I had possibly sentenced people to their death by bringing attention to him. I would try my hardest not to think about that, or why Darcy's phone was disconnected. Talking to my sister helped sometimes…

Only sometimes.

June would talk a bit timidly of Atlanta, assuring that it wasn't as bleak as other areas in Georgia. There were a lot of military tanks rolling in as of late, safe guarding from within the city; she and mom were nervous about being nestled on the outskirts. Apparently, it was safer inside the city. She and our step father were heavily considering moving further into the city, and I told her Jeff and I (hopefully Hank as well) might follow suit if things got any worse.

My father, on the other hand, had nothing but complaints. Southerners and people from the Midwest were crowding into the western states, California especially. There wasn't much of a fuss over the outbreak there, but he sounded nervous. With these migrated people came the possibility of the sickness travelling with them. He expressed his need to have me back over there, and I considered it… but something was holding me back. Maybe because I had everyone over here in the South to think about, people who I cared for that were here and I knew wouldn't be welcome into my conservative father's home. I told him if worse came to worst, I'd make my way to Sacramento. He sighed and replied the very thing we were all hoping: "I pray it doesn't get to that point."

_Xxx_

Gun training was going from a fight on my part, to a daily chore. I never actually shot the gun, but I learned everything that made the weapon tick, how to take it apart and put it back together, how to reload… took quite a while, but after some time, it came a bit more naturally to me. Aim, on the other hand, was a bit more difficult. "Don't shoot **at** the target, shoot **through** it" Jeff instructed, pointing to red marked dot on a cutesy poster he picked up from the market. The red mark had to be between the puppy's eyes, didn't it?

I cocked an eyebrow. "What does that even mean?"

Hank chuckled and as usual, came up behind me to position me better. "It's not mandatory to close one eye, by the way. If it helps ya, then by God, go on ahead 'n do it. But I prefer to shoot with both eyes open."

Day after day, I'd learn something new. I learned how to work with guns besides Jeff's semi-automatic, including various types of handguns and shotguns. Hank wanted to teach me how to use a rifle, but I refused—I honestly thought I knew too much about the damn weapon as it was, and I didn't feel the need to learn any further. I practiced constantly with what I had been taught, though, and pretty soon neither Jeff nor Hank had to supervise me around any of the weapons. It'd been just over 2 weeks since that last day of work, and with nothing more to do than to train with the guns, stockpile on supplies, and tend to the apartment, it wasn't a wonder why I learned things rather quickly. Jeff refused to let me leave anywhere by myself, and he and Hank were left with the task of going out and bringing back what was needed, which wasn't much besides water, food, sometimes clothes or other nick-knacks. I didn't dare ask about what they'd see out there.

I was honestly getting comfortable. As each day passed with no disturbance, I felt the need to head towards Atlanta slipping further away, and I didn't mind one bit. It sounds pretty messed up, but with all our essentials at hand, I was no longer perturbed by the empty street I'd see every time I looked outside, nor was I feeling cooped up. We had everything we needed here, and were in very reasonable distance to get whatever else we might need at any other given time. It seemed everyone within our apartment complex was either locked in their space, or had fled… all was quiet, just the way I liked it. Hank didn't even go home anymore: he grabbed a trash bag, filled it with clothes, and brought all his supplies over. He was crashing on our couch every night, which added to the comfort level. As it had been said in the years long before us, safety and a sense of light-heartedness came in numbers. Despite everything that was going on, Hank and I managed to make each other laugh… We'd pass the time telling one another of childhood stories, in which his and Jeff's were 10 times more interesting than mine. Catching frogs and slurping up creepy crawlies on dares, sneaking off with Mr. Prior's gun to shoot at the chickens and getting his ass beaten for it later, losing his virginity in the back of his older brother's car… Growing up on very rural farmland surrounded by thick, humid woods, both boys learned the art of being a Class A gunman at the ripe age of 14, and had acquired skills any hunter would garnish with pride. These stories of happier times seemed to keep us all in a peaceful frame of mind, even rubbing off on the most somber of our trio. Jeff was doing just as my sister said he would, and was coming around bit by bit... I could see the glimmer of his old self in his eyes, and I couldn't have been happier. Hank and Jeff kept tabs on their families, who assured all was well as long as they kept their houses unlit and locked up when darkness fell.

As grim as things looked elsewhere, this little apartment in Abbeville had no complaints besides Jeff's snoring.

_xxx_

I chewed nervously on my fingernail as I stared at the door, the two plates sitting across the table from me stacked with lukewarm food and no occupants in the chairs.

Whenever Hank and Jeff stepped out, it was for a few hours at the most. They never stayed out longer past 3 hours. I always timed them, and they never went past their said marker. Today, though, I had heard no rustling of keys from Jeff, no humorous, secret soft knock from Hank. Neither had returned from their venture to Jeff's family farm, which in itself wasn't too far. I had asked to go, but Jeff insisted I stay and tend to the apartment. They were only running to go check in on the Dunn house since the phone lines went down and he had no other way of communicating with them. He implied he might bring his parents and older sister home, if things weren't right over there... It'd be crowded, but how could I say no? Hank and I had more to be nervous about, since his family land was an extra 30 minutes further past Jeff's, and my family was miles away. We spoke nothing of it though, trying our best not to be reminded of the constant wondering of their well-being.

It was nearing 5 hours, though. They should've been home by now.

I stood with a frustrated sigh, gathering their plates and placing both in the oven to keep them warm. _It'll be fine, Rita. Deep breathes._

Another reason I hated when they were gone: I talked to myself.

I spent time practicing a bit more with dismantling the semi-automatic, then putting it back together, a process I quickly grew tired of. It wasn't until I heard the _thump, thump, thump _of heavy footsteps echoing in the hallway outside my door that I perked up. I set the gun down on the table, waited a moment, but nothing; just the continued _thump, thump…_ I stood up slowly, brows furrowed, and walked over to the door. Hesitating briefly, I looked through the peep hole, and saw nothing, and my shoulders slumped in disappointment. Then there it was again: _thump, thump, thump…_ This time, it sounded further down hallway, and I heard a door creak open. _What the fuck?_

I could've sworn Jeff, Hank, and I were the only souls left on this floor, possibly in this whole apartment complex. I hadn't heard the shuffling of another person in quite some time. Then I thought about the epidemic as of late, how I still hadn't seen one of these terrifying things myself. But how likely was it that a 'Walker' was here? None. This was the third floor of the complex. Maybe it was a person from the streets taking shelter here?

Deciding it would certainly be the latter thought, I made up my mind and cracked open the door—only to see the backside of Mrs. Jenkins turning the corner down the east corridor. I'd automatically recognized the washed-out nightgown attire of the very sweet elderly woman Jeff used to play plumber for, her fuzzy blue house shoes _thump, thump, thumping_ further away. I suddenly longed for companionship, needing to fill the gap that was Jeff and Hank's absence. I thought maybe to invite her in for dinner, ask her how she'd been faring in the latest nation-wide freak out. What she doing out in the hallway by herself, anyway? Maybe she had her family here with her.

I stepped out, leaving the door slightly ajar behind me. "Mrs. Jenkins!" I called out softly, hoping she was close enough to hear me. "Mrs. Jenkins?" I tried again, padding down the corridor after her. I stopped at the end of the hall where she had turned, now having her in plain sight. "Hey Mrs. Jenkins, I-" I began hesitantly, only to shut my mouth as quick as I had opened it.

I hadn't seen it from her left side as she trudged around the corner to the east hall, but now that I took in the full appearance of her prone exterior... Her skin was sallow and grey, veins bulging and visible with the sinister blue hue of death. I could see the rivulets of dark blood originating from an open wound on her right arm. The blood had long since stopped circulating, but it dripped down from her arm to her fingers, hitting the floor and creating a dark, inky trail in its wake as she walked on… a trail of blood I had failed to notice as I foolishly stepped out of the safety of my apartment.

I realized all too late the grave mistake I had made.

_Walker. Walker. Walker._

Mrs. Jenkins turned slowly to face me, a moan escaping her withered, gnarled mouth. Her face was as unsightly (if not more) than her backside, and my panic kicked in to overdrive. _Don't let her get into the apartment _was all I could think of.

I took off down the opposite direction of the east corridor, hearing the immediate scuffing of her house shoes following suit, attempting to gain on me. _Thump, thump, thump…_ she rasped incoherent, animalistic noises, and it pushed me to run faster. _C'mon, Rita! You're a fatass, but you __**can**__ and you __**will**__ outrun and elderly corpse! Get to it!_

Sometimes, self-degradation helped.

I swerved to the right of the corridor, heading back west, trying as fast as I could to map out the third floor in my head. Why hadn't I taken the time to get to actually know my neighbors, goddammit? I heard the thing that used to be Mrs. Jenkins stumbling awfully close behind me, and I forced myself to move faster,_ faster_, to think of something, _something…_! Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the door to another apartment left ajar, no doubt carelessly vacated, and quickly dove inside. I attempted to slam it shut behind me, but Mrs. Jenkins threw herself against the door fast, practically breaking it off its hinges. I held steady, fighting against her weight on the door with mine, pushing back as hard as I could all the while avoiding her discolored hand that swiped to grab a hold of me. "N-no!" I wailed helplessly, feeling my resolve weaken as she continued to relentlessly snarl and thrash against the wood. I turned my back to the door, leaning on it from that angle in the hopes it would somehow help: it didn't. My feet slid on the carpet, and for a moment, I felt something in my chest fall away. I shut my eyes, trying my best to hold the tears back.

_I'm going to die._

I took in deep breaths, preparing to just let the door go and have her tear me apart, for this was a fate I brought on myself because I was so stupid. I opened my eyes to take in the scene in front of me… and my heart skipped a beat. This apartment was identical to mine in that it had a kitchen right next to the doorway, with a sort of bar to separate the living room from the kitchen. Among the open drawers and the tossed about items, I saw a pair of scissors gleaming at me from the kitchen floor, taunting me almost, seeing as it was out of my reach. _There has to be a way…_

And then I had a memory. A flash of memory so simple, a quaint reminder of the times before this monster version of Mrs. Jenkins was wheezing and thrashing against the door behind me. I leaned against the door of my high school History class, talking bashfully to the all-around California boy Andy Witlock who had the misfortune of being paired with me for a project… only to have my history teacher open the door and have me tumble on through, clean off my feet.

Huh. Strange, the things a person could think of before they could die.

This could seriously backfire on me, but I wasn't looking at any other option. I summoned every ounce of strength I could muster, and pushed back with a defiant cry, seeming to infuriate Mrs. Jenkins further. _One_… breath…_ Two…_ breath…

I jumped away from the door, and Mrs. Jenkins crashed to the floor as it swung open. I heard the impact as her rotted face met the ground, but I knew I didn't have much time before she got back up. I dashed into the kitchen, snatched up the scissors, and shut off the small voice in my head that told me I had lost my fucking mind. I clamored back to the doorway, and just as old Mrs. Jenkins rose to her knees, I plunged the blades of the scissors straight down into her head. A moan caught right in her throat as the sickening sound of object meeting flesh echoed on the quiet floor of the complex, and she slumped to the floor.

I stared down at Mrs. Jenkins' body, my chest heaving at a painful pace. _One…_ breath… _Two…_ breath…_ Three… _breath… _Four…_

I don't know how long I stood there out in the open. I was tuned out from everything else, frozen to the spot, my eyes never leaving Mrs. Jenkins. Her blood was spattered on my clothes… on the floor… the wall… even on her fuzzy blue shoes.

I could feel nothing, nothing but the suffocating space and the dread in my stomach at having killed someone. An old woman who had once doted on my best friend, for that matter. A murderer… did this make me a murderer?

I suddenly heard my name. My name was being called, over and over, and I could not react. I wanted to go… go to it. But another part of me told me that maybe I was imagining it.

And then I heard the _thump, thump, thump..._ This time, it wasn't menacing. It was beautiful, _**so**_ damn beautiful, because it was fast and I could hear ragged breathing, and my name again...

"Jeff, I found 'er!" Hank was suddenly in the doorway, looking down at poor Mrs. Jenkins, then back to me. "Aw, fuck, Rita…" he whimpered, running his hands through his long hair. He side-stepped her body, approaching me with slowly. "Rita…" he practically cooed, his hand reaching out to touch my shoulder. I didn't flinch at the contact; instead, I finally pulled my eyes away from Mrs. Jenkins, and looked up at him. He hesitated, wincing at whatever he saw on my face in that moment. "Rita-girl, you weren't… you, uh… you weren't bit or scratched, right?"

Wordlessly, I turned fully to face him, holding out my arms on either side of me. He took note of the blood spattered on my clothes, and from a place within me I did not know, words fell from my mouth. "The head."

Hank's eyes flicked up to me, away from his inspections. "What?"

"You said the head, right? When they're like this, the only sure-fire way to kill them is the head. It's the head. The **brain**."

Hank paused, then nodded his solemnly, suddenly pulling me against his chest. If I weren't so numb, I would have enjoyed this. "C'mon," he whispered into my hair as I heard Jeff's footfalls coming up fast from the hallway, "we're leavin' Rita-girl."

_xxx_

**A/N: **FML, this chapter was hard to write. Next should come a bit more easily to me. Review, guys! Tell me whatcha think!


	4. Back to Black

_**Chapter Four: Back to Black**_

_xxx_

Everything became a blur. My movements seemed sluggish and without purpose. Everything sounded dull and muffled, as if my ears had been stuffed with cotton. Hank and Jeff were practically at each other's throats in an argument as Jeff dragged me down through the hallway, but I could not bring myself out of my shock. I thought I could hear Jeff saying my name, but still, none of it made sense—

…_blood on the walls, blood on the shoes, blood on the clothes…_

It was a memory that felt like cold hands on the back of my neck…cold hands… Jeffery…

"Rita-girl c'mon, don't you close up now!" His voice finally got through to me. I'm sure his rattling me by the shoulders helped, as I became aware of my head jerking painfully and my teeth clacking together.

"Wait, wait…what did…" I pleaded, pounding against his chest for him to release me. Jeff let go, and my sight finally shifted into focus, everything becoming clear. Somehow, the boys had dragged me back to the apartment, and as Jeff stood in front of me to pull me completely out of my reverie, Hank was tearing the living room apart and stuffing his clothes into a huge trash bag. "Hank?" I whispered, looking back to Jeff with an embarrassingly watery vision.

Jeff's voice shook, "Rita, git your shit together, we're leavin', and we gotta leave **now**! Take only a few changes of clothes and whatever else you HAVE to have, otherwise, leave it 'ere. It can't all fit in the car."

"Where… Jeff, where are we going? Where can we go? Why can't—"

"Stop, just fuckin' _stop_ askin' questions" he cut me off. "All you need to know is it ain't safe 'round these parts anymore, 'n we're leavin' as soon as dawn breaks."

I looked to Hank for answers, but for once in the duration of our blissfully ignorant apartment, he didn't meet my eyes to assure me. He merely looked to floor… his eyes as blank and despondent as Mrs. Jenkins' had been.

_xxx_

Throughout my life, I'd always been a heavy sleeper, but tonight… tonight, I couldn't even close my eyes. I stared up at my bedroom ceiling for what seemed like endless hours.

… _blood on the walls, blood on the shoes, blood on the clothes…_

A rustle… the sound of a boot hitting the floor. I turned my head to my door that Jeff insisted I leave ajar, and I sat up when the small but intentionally quiet noises continued. It was coming from the living room, and I knew it had to be Hank. Maybe he couldn't sleep, too? I rose from my bed, shuffling quietly past the alarm clock that blared 4:39a.m., then past the door and down the brief hallway…

Only to find Hank fully dressed and leaned over the coffee table, scribbling down something on a notepad. His gun poked out from the back of the area where his shirt met his jeans, his trash bag filled with clothes and other essentials leaned against his calf. I watched him for a moment, letting the scene before me sink in before I pulled it together. "Where are you going?"

I startled him, so much so that he moved the coffee table. He winced, looked down the hallway behind me, then eased up again when he affirmed that he hadn't awoken Jeffery. "Rita-girl…" he whispered, his voice lined with guilt, "Go back to sleep. You're gonna be gettin' up in a few hours." I looked to the window to see the light purple haze of day break outside, then looked back to Hank. He shuffled his feet uncomfortably, reaching up his left hand to scratch the back of his neck.

I looked at the note behind him, attempting to read it from where I stood… then looked back to him when I saw that I couldn't. "Where are you going?" I asked again.

He sighed, visibly upset. "Dammit Rita, why couldn't ya just…" He looked away from me, focusing on the hazy purple light streaming in from behind the curtains. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, "but I'm leavin' ta join my brother in the Marines. They ain't even signin' 'em up like they used to, they're just takin' in anyone who wants to lend a hand. I'm gonna get equipped right, get some brief trainin' hopefully, then know enough to handle whateva the hell's going on with the world. We both wanna go see our family, too. He hasn't been back there in a while, and I haven't spoken to 'em in weeks. I'm scared for 'em…"

My heart sank at the end of his explanation. I knew no amount of begging or tears would make him stay. Family comes first… regardless if I felt that nagging, dark feeling of betrayal, as though I were his family.

He was leaving Jeff- he was leaving _me._

I didn't look at Hank as I pushed past him and sat down at the coffee table, and he moved back to give me space. I trembled as I brought my hands to my mouth, then "How are you going to get there?"

"We got two cars" he said without missing a beat, "My ol' pick up that I drove over when I first came here, I'll be takin' it to go back 'n see my parents. You 'n Jeff will be takin' his pa's jeep."

I hesitated a moment longer before I realized I had to know, I _had _to know, why we had to leave this place… "What happened today?" I asked timidly. "I thought we were safe here…" I saw Hank's face set in a miserable expression, but I pressed him for an answer. "_Please._"

He paused briefly before he looked me in the eyes. "Jeff's family is gone. His parents… God Rita, they was…" he was struggling not to break down, and he shut his eyes in resistance to what must have been mental images. "His sister got sick… 'n their ma and pa paid the price by thinkin' they could help her."

I completely regretted asking. My empty stomach still managed to lurch, and I buried my face in my hands to hold myself together.

"On the way back…" he continued, "we saw a lot of 'em… leavin' the downtown area 'n headin' further out to the suburbs. Ain't nothin' for 'em in the inner parts of this town anymore, I guess. Jeff figures it's better to go to Atlanta… git help there. But I…" he trailed off, the guilt returning to his features. "I ain't abandonin' you, if that's what ya think. If it were any other situation, I'd stay here with you, you know I would honey. But… my family…"

"I know." I said faintly, trying to slow my breathing. "I know, because it'd be the same for me. If I could get to my family in a reasonable distance, I would… but maybe I'll have a better chance of seeing them in Atlanta." I fell silent before my voice watered. I took a breath before further asking "How… how did I not see it? He didn't look sad, or…"

"The world as it is has changed 'im. He didn't cry, not once did he cry… not even when he had to gun down his lil' sister." I looked up at that, curling my hands into tight fists. "So right now, Rita…" he looked back at me. "You're all he's got."

Knowing that he was close to Jeff's family and he must've taken it just as hard, I reached over and took his hand large in mine, giving it a squeeze. The action alone was hard for me to do, but I wanted to offer him any comfort…anything. "_We_," I corrected, "_we _are all he's got."

"In a minute, he won't." Hank said sadly, grasping firmly onto both of my hands. "But… you'll do fine, honey. I know you both will. You'll get to Atlanta, you 'n Jeff'll be safe, and that'll be enough for me no matter where I am. You'll be _fine_."

"Hank, I wasn't raised in the south like you, or Jeff, or my baby sister…" The strength in my voice came back, twisted with envy that had no right to be there. I let go of his hand. "June is a proud southern girl through and through. She didn't quite pick up the full twang of an accent, but she carries herself in a way that demands attention whether you want to look her way or not. She's strong, _so_ strong… Maybe I should have stayed with my mother as she did instead of flying to the other side of the country to be raised by my equally reserved father..." I knew I was rambling, but I couldn't stop at this point. Somehow, it was therapeutic. If I died, someone had to know the things I felt… someone had to know at least a piece of the woman—no, the_ person_ I was. The words kept coming, words I had never voiced to anyone. "Either way I don't think I'm going to survive this, whatever… _this_is. Not when I'm so damn helpless."

He suddenly burst out laughing. I glared at him with my mouth agape, absolutely bewildered.

Hank was laughing like he'd heard the funniest joke ever, like his sides would split. He quieted down in caution of the still sleeping Jeff, doubling over to contain the volume of his laughter, and I felt the sudden urge to rip his hair out. "What is _**so**_ goddamn funny?" I seethed.

His eyes met mine again, his laughing ceased but the sparkle of humor never dulled. "You ain't helpless baby, you're just makin' excuses! You know's well as I do that it ain't got nothin' to do with bein' raised in the South. You may be city-bred, but you got **grit**, Rita-girl. I don't feel sorry for you, I feel sorry for the sonnabitch who tries ta bite ya."

His honesty stunned me into silence.

How could someone have more faith in me than I had in myself? That wasn't right at all.

I lowered my head for a minute, then looked back to him. The laughter was completely gone now- there was something in his eyes, a kind of hesitance like he might have left something unsaid. He decided to hold it on his tongue I guess, and gave me a brief smile instead as he hauled up his bag and opened the door. _Was there really nothing left to say?_ I don't know what exactly my expression read, but I gave him the best smile I could muster in return, and mumbled a "Thanks" that I doubt he heard as he began to close the door behind him—only for him to open it back up and give me a hard stare. I blinked, suddenly nervous. "What?"

I heard the bag hit the floor, and in a matter of seconds Hank stood in front of me, pulling me up from my seat by my arms. He laid a hot breathed, open-mouth kiss on me before I could speak- I swore I could feel this guy's tongue on my tonsils. It was the deepest, most desperate kiss I'd ever experienced in my life thus far, and without thinking, I was kissing back.

Just as soon as I had, I felt his mouth leave mine, and I was left with my eyes closed hoping he'd pull me in again.

I felt him bring his face close to mine again, but he didn't close the small gap between us. "If anythin' happens" he whispered, his heavy breath stirring the wisps of hair framing my face, "I don't wanna regret anythin'. I wanna remember somethin' like this… somethin' nice like this." He kissed my lips one more time, lightly, and my eyes slowly opened to look at him. The sadness in his dark eyes made me well up, and I mentally kicked myself when I felt the rising threat of tears. "I hope I see you again, Fuentes. You ain't as bad as you think you are."

I could say nothing. Not even as he turned and walked away, closing the door behind him. This time I knew he wouldn't come back.

I sat at the table once more, lowering my head into my hands. It was only when it settled on me that I was the one filled with regret… regret that I hadn't given him the response he deserved to hear… that I broke down.

_xxx_

I never went back to sleep.

I couldn't when I knew that I'd probably never see Hank Prior again.

Instead, I took a moment to collect myself. After some breathing exercises and filling my head solely with thoughts of what else could be done to survive what I'd come to accept as the new world, I decided to awaken Jeff. It took a while for me to think of the right words, the words to say to him…I lied. I could only tell him that his best friend was gone to reunite with his blood family, as stated in the note that he left behind when I woke up. I knew if I told him the truth, and that I didn't try to stop Hank from leaving, there was a good chance he might be angry with me. I saw his face contort into unbearable pain, and before Jeff could full- on freak out, I threw my arms around him. I assured him that I was ready to start packing and get on the road… that I'd follow him to the ends of the Earth, if that's where he wanted to go. He shook in my embrace, but after several moments, wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in my hair.

"We'll be fine… we'll be just _fine_." I echoed Hank's words.

_xxx_

I stood in the middle of the living room, looking around one final time to memorize it, to make an impression in my brain with its comforting images.

I didn't want to leave. But really, what other option was there? The last thing we heard before the broadcasts went off was that the CDC were slaving away to engineer a cure for this frightening outbreak, and that the uninfected were scrambling for inner Atlanta. Jeff had complete faith we'd get answers and we'd be safe there.

Oh, Jeff.

He had stacked our few bags of essentials by the door, including a duffel bag full of his guns. He kept two at his waist, and insisted I carry at least one on mine. After I had told him of Hank's departure, he didn't speak anymore on the matter. He only hustled and bustled, keeping busy and making sure we were missing absolutely _nothing_ we may need on our journey. Once in a while, he'd glance up at me as I prepared meals in the kitchen and emptied out everything in jars into portable containers. I wondered what my expression read. Was it as blank as I felt?

I clutched a small photo album in my hands, as if it'd be enough to ground my raging nerves. It was just a small booklet crammed with only my most favorite pictures… I decided we didn't need extra baggage so long as I had the photos that meant most to me. Photos of my family, of Jeff and his family, of Hank, of my co-workers, of this apartment… I closed my eyes, inhaling the scents of our home one more time. "Ready to go, Rita-girl?" he said quietly, wrapping his arms around me from behind. It almost startled me; it was the first affectionate contact he had initiated towards me in a long, long time. He squeezed hard, and I knew that even though I _wasn't _ready, he was counting on me to say I was. So I swallowed my fears, griped his forearm, and nodded.

He released me, and headed over to the door. We gathered all our bags, Jeff not wanting to risk a second trip back. As we entered the hallway, Jeff stopped me from closing the door. He gave me a look, a look that told me everything he couldn't say: There's no need to close the door. We were never coming back again.

The trip down the hallway was nerve wracking, for me at least. Jeff kept a brave face the entire time, even as we approached the stairs leading down. Unlike Jeff and Hank, I hadn't left the apartment the entire time we were here—this was the first time in a while that I'd seen it. The stairwell was cluttered with clothing and dropped items, no doubt in people's rush to evacuate the building. I bit my bottom lip, fighting off the nervous tingling that sparked in my chest. Jeff handed me another bag so he could pull out both of his guns, and led the way as we tip-toed down the stairs.

I was trying my hardest to seem as brave as he was in this moment.

Three long sets of stairs later, we reached the bottom, and he motioned with his hand for me to wait where I was. I froze, sticking to the wall like a fly as he opened the door to scope the underground parking lot. He didn't close the door behind him at first, but then looked to me. "I'm gonna get the car," he whispered, and put a finger to his lips. "Stay here 'til you hear me roll up." He placed the bags at my feet, guns griped tightly in his hands, and ducked out.

I heard his steps as he went further and further, my heart beating faster with each distanced foot fall. There was a pause, a door opened, closed…and I heard the engine start. I sighed in relief, but bristled up instantly when the tires screeched, and I heard it break instantly near the door. "RITA, RUN!" Jeff bellowed.

I didn't have time to think. I snatched up whatever I could, rammed open the door, and ran outside.

Just as I didn't have time to think, I didn't have time to take in the horror of the situation. Jeff had thrown open the passenger side of the car door in perfect alignment to where I was escaping from, and I ducked inside the car in a few short sprints. He didn't wait for me to close the door all way, hitting the gas pedal to the floor. I heard a disturbing bump come from the back of the car, and screamed when I looked out the back window— Walkers, _several_ of them, were stumbling and moaning in an effort to keep up with the car, the jeep slipping through their rotted fingers by a hair. I had no idea that there had been so many of them, right underneath our apartment… how long had they been there? Who were they before this? My dizzy conscience was bombarded with irrelevant questions as Jeff gripped the steering wheel, flying out of the car lot and out onto the street.

The world looked different compared to my memory, compared to the small piece of it I could see whenever I peeked out the window. It was dirty and cold and barren, just like the shell that had once been my neighbor Mrs. Jenkins.

The world had gone to hell, and I suddenly felt foolish for not fully grasping it until now. No wonder Jeff was the way he was now…

I went numb, staring at the road ahead and not at the ruined town that I once called home. Jeff kept his breakneck speed, blazing past any threat to us, all the way until we hit the interstate 85 going south. I was almost thankful that we were going too fast for me to see the Walkers that were undoubtedly stumbling around and feeding on whatever was left of the living in Abbeville, South Carolina.

_xxx_

We were able to slow down on the interstate, the only obstacles being empty cars. There were no Walkers in sight, none, and I couldn't help wondering what had happened.

I nibbled on some whole grain bread, urging Jeff to eat. His mouth was set in a grim line, refusing anything I offered. The only thing he accepted was my hand when I reached for his. We sat in silence for most of the way, and I was unsure why... Maybe because both of our worlds had changed so drastically in less than a month, and there was no getting it back.

Hours went by. Not because we were driving slow, but because there were too many cars we had to maneuver around. Here and there, we'd find a few Walkers intent on giving chase, but it was fairly easy to get past them so long as they didn't get close to the car.

"When are we going to see someone alive, Jeff?" I whispered sadly.

Jeff put on the best smile he could muster, pulling me into a one armed hug. "Atlanta, Rita-girl. Atlanta. I promise."

_xxx_

"Jeff!" I murmured with the first hint of excitement coming to my voice in a long, long time. "Jeff, look!" He had already set his sights on what I was flustered over, both of us clearly having shifted a bit more towards relief when cars with people, _actual people_, were joining onto the freeway alongside us. Granted, they looked every bit as terrified and unsure as we were, but it was so good seeing other people and knowing we weren't all alone.

We couldn't have been more than 30 minutes outside of Atlanta now. I could see the tall buildings of the city cloaked in thick gray fog from the afternoon dusk in the distance. My heart sped up as I saw more and more cars appearing with occupants within them… before it sank in realization that there was traffic going into the city. People were honking and shouting out of windows in agitation, and I looked to Jeff for guidance. His jaw set, and he just shook his head. "S'alright, girl. People jus' scared. But we all gonna get into the city and go from there." His words were my only source of comfort, my only source of reliability right now, for I could think of nothing else to invest in.

As we sat in traffic, I examined others in their cars—a stricken woman with her two young children in the backseat, playing happily with toys and most certainly unaware of the goings-on recently; a man with an elderly lady riding in his passenger seat, his eyes dark and heavy with bags from his clear sleep deprivation; a girl younger than I, no older than 16 perhaps, alone in the car. Her lovely face was streaked with tears as she caught my gaze, and I turned away. So many people who had lost someone in all of this, I was sure of it... It left me wondering about the fate of my own family yet again.

_Family. _I bit my lip, looking at Jeffery out of the corner of my eye. _Jeff's family… _We still hadn't talked about it, despite my hundreds of questions and my desire to reach out to him. I couldn't just bring it up, though. He knew I was here for him…yet he wouldn't talk to me about his loss. I realized that if Hank hadn't told me the truth, I'd still be in the dark about it. I mulled over the right words for a moment longer, and decided that some things were best left unsaid right now. Maybe he'd open up to me after he's had some time to cope and recover.

I looked to the radio, turning the knob to try to find something to listen to. Just as I predicted, I found nothing but updated news casts. It was already close to around 5 at my best guess; dusk was fast approaching, and I felt that familiar nervousness creeping into my chest again at how little our moving progress was to get into the city. We'd been stuck in this traffic for most of the day since we left Abbeville. Jeff hadn't spoken much, preferring to listen to whatever the updates were informing. I couldn't be bothered to listen, instead trying to figure out what exactly what we were going to do once we got inside Atlanta. Were there phone lines there? Could I call my dad? Were my sister, mother, and stepdad already there? And God, I needed to sleep, I was—

Screams suddenly pierced the evening air. I perked up immediately, looking out the back window of the jeep, but seeing nothing besides the traffic behind us. "What was that?"

Jeff griped the steering wheel, shushing me so we could get a better listen from what seemed like a short distance… more blood curdling screams. I felt my panic rising, and I looked to Jeff desperately. "Jeff, what do we—"

Suddenly, the people behind us were getting out of their cars and running right past our jeep, not caring about their luggage they left behind. "Oh.. oh my God…" Jeff whispered, his face white. "Get outta the car Rita, get out _now_!" Just as I had in the parking lot, I didn't have time to think. I grabbed only one of my bags; I didn't know which one, but I was hoping it was with something we needed. Jeff reached behind and grabbed the bag of guns, slinging it on his back. As soon as we opened the doors, Jeff was at my side in a flash. He grabbed my arm and took off, dragging me behind him and break-neck speed. Being heavy and out of shape, I could only keep up to a certain extent, and for a second I felt like telling Jeff to go on without me. But I realized, looking at his determined face… I _wanted_ to get to Atlanta. I _wanted_ to keep running, to keep going, we were almost there. The people who had been in front of us were getting out of their cars and running too, and as the masses of people were slamming into each other and the fear in the chill air was rising, I snuck a look behind us.

My stomach dropped.

Walkers, an uncertain and alarming number of them, had come up behind the traffic, tearing into the unfortunate souls who couldn't get away on time. The infected had probably followed the cars of those that had escaped from close-by suburbs on the outskirts of Atlanta.

Teeth gnashed and blood spilled as the living continued to fall to a horrible fate on the hard pavement of the freeway. Tears welled in my eyes at the various atrocities before me, but Jeff's fierce grip wouldn't let me fall behind. "Jeff…" my voice was hoarse and defeated, "Jeff please, we have to help them, please… l-look at them…"

"We gotta save ourselves Rita-girl, it's too late for them" he shot back unapologetically. "Keep running! We gotta keep going baby, we're almost there!"

We didn't see it coming. In all the flurry of people, living and dead, headed all towards the same direction, a fresh and still-running Walker that was once a stout, robust man slammed into Jeff from the side. I could only watch in horror as its teeth ripped into the back of Jeff's neck, hands clawing to wrestle his prey to the ground.

I was too late. I knew I was too late, even when I pulled out the gun from the waistband of my jeans and shot the thing in the arm, my clumsy and panicked aim shooting through Jeff's side as well. I got the Walkers' attention; it swerved to open its dark, bloody mouth at me, its hands still clutching Jeff. I screamed in anger as I shot straight between its eyes—it crumpled to the ground with one last moan, taking Jeff down with it.

"Jeffery!" I wailed, running to him and shoving the monster off of him. "G-get up! Please, please, _please_ get up!" I didn't care that people were running by us; on the ground, we almost blended into the dark of the pavement. "Jeff, c'mon, we're almost there, please!" I begged, trying to pull him up by his arm. "We'll get you help… they can help, if we just—"

"Stop," he rasped, his blood choking him. "Rita… honey… stop…" he coughed and gagged horridly, "I can't… I _can't_…"

I had to do something. I had to get him out of the open.

My chest heaved, my eyesight so blurry with water I couldn't fathom how I opened the back seat door of the old Ford Mustang we were near. I sobbed as I dragged Jeff inside, closing it behind us and locking all four doors.

The dark of the sky had completely settled now. The stars did not show tonight, and above all the screaming and flesh ripping and gun fire, I could only hear my dear friend's labored breathing.

His blood was everywhere. His skin, his hair, his clothes, the seats…

… _blood on the walls, blood on the shoes, blood on the clothes…_

I removed the duffel bag of weapons from his back to alleviate the weight on his body, setting it to the back window of the car to block us from view. "Jeff," I whispered, leaning over. I had fistfuls of his ruined shirt in my hands, my face looking pleadingly to him for answers. "What… what do… what can I…?"

In spite of it all, he managed a small smile. "If one… one of us had to go… I'd rather it be… me, girl…" It was a hardship just to talk. He was suffering. He was suffering so much.

I was useless.

I lowered my head into his abdomen, crying and sobbing without a clue what to do next. He and I both knew…

"I don't… I don't have much time… Rita-girl…" He grunted in pain when he tried to move, but I steadied him with my hand pressed on his forearm.

"No, no don't move!" I whispered, taking off my sweater and putting it behind his neck so he could lay comfortably on the arm rest of the back seat. It didn't do much to help, and he still tried to move. "What, what is it?"

"My guns… get 'em…"

I reached into his waistband, retrieving his pistols. I was about to put them back in the bag, until a sudden rush of his strength clamped down on my arm, stopping me.

I couldn't look at him.

I already knew what this meant.

"Rita." His voice was stronger as well, blood flowing from his lips, but his jaw set just. He looked just as determined as he had been this whole ordeal leading up to this moment. I felt his eyes steady on me, unwavering. "_Please._"

I met his gaze, and shook my head. "No, Jeff… no."

Jeffery broke.

His eyes were as pained and tearful as mine, coming out all at once, unforgiving and resolute. "Rita-girl, I can't!" He cried, his body shuddering. "I can't, I _won't_ _become one of those fuckin' monsters! _Please… please, don't let me turn into… one of 'em, baby…! To walk the earth- only to destroy what is precious, to have no mind, no purpose… a soulless, godless demon… Rita, I'm beggin' ya…"

"I can't! Jeff, I… I couldn't with myself!"

"I can't do it m'self, honey… that's suicide… and I…" he looked to the ceiling of the car, and I could see the veins of his neck becoming more visible, the skin on his face looking thin and losing its color. Was it already happening? "I… wanna see my family in heaven."

I froze at that. I grabbed his hand, bringing it tenderly to my chest. "Jeff…" We both startled when something banged against the Mustang, but it was fleeting and kept going. I continued, "Jeff, how…"

"I believe in a God… I believe in 'im. Mama raised me a good, God-fearin' man. And I believe he an' my family… are waitin' for me at the gates. If I take my own life…"

"So to spare you the sin of suicide, you put a completely worse sin on me? That'd make me a murderer, Jeff—"

"It'd make you an angel of mercy." He squeezed my hand tighter, the pleading in his eyes breaking the last of my resistance.

We gazed at one another for several moments. Several moments I knew we both needed. Several moments that we both wanted to remember as we parted ways, here in the back of a stranger's Mustang in the middle of the apocalypse.

One of his guns was now clutched in my fist, my hand remembering everything I had ever been taught. My face was wet and sticky, but no longer showed my fear. I needed to be strong not only for myself, but for Jeff… he needed me. He _needed_ me.

I put the gun to his temple, my lower lip trembling but still able to keep my composure.

"I know… you ain't much for God, Rita-girl…" he said quietly, using the last of his strength to reach up to his neck. "But…" he winced as he pulled out a long, gold chain from underneath his bloodied shirt, lifting it over his head. A glimmering, blood-flecked crucifix dangled at the end of the gold chain. "But it'd be a shame… if you didn't think… someone wasn't lookin' out for ya. My mama gave this to me when I was jus' a snot-nosed heckler…" he smiled, and I made sure to memorize every detail of my best friend's smile. "So even if ya don't wanna accept God jus' yet… then carry this… knowin' that _I'm _the one watchin' over you."

I took the crucifix, now having to use everything left in me not to break down in front of him. I quickly pulled it over my head and hid it under my shirt, close to my heart. "I'll never take it off." I gave him a weak smile, and he pulled my hand wielding the gun back to his temple.

"You'll make it, Rita-girl. You'll live a long, good life. I know it."

I wish I could believe him.

I leaned over and pressed my lips softly to the corner of his mouth, whispering "Love you so much, Jeff. I'm so, _so sorry_..."

"It's a new world" he replied softly, his eyes half-open. "Be smart. Be strong. _Live. _I love you—"

The gun went off. I shot without looking, but knew from the sickening sound I had hit him dead through the brain, eliminating any chance of him coming back as a flesh-eating beast.

I wanted to believe in God. I wanted to believe in Heaven. Just for the sake of being able to take comfort that Jeff was in this better place, reunited with his family… This Jeff in the car with me was no more. Just like Hank and various others, I'd never see him or hear his voice again outside of the small corner of my mind where I kept my memories fresh and alive with their faces and personalities.

I couldn't look at his body. I couldn't bear to see the results of my mercy killing, to see his brain matter splattered against the window or the hole through his head. I just couldn't do it.

I swallowed thickly, knowing it'd be only a matter of short time before it'd be too late for me to get away, too. I couldn't stay here with Jeff… it wasn't Jeff anymore. I had to keep running—I had to keep living.

I stuffed my only bag of belongings into the larger duffel bag of weapons. I needed to put everything I had left to my name together in order to make this escape. I swung the bag of weapons onto my back, adjusting it tightly to my body. I unlocked my side of the door, tuning back into the screams and chaos outside of this car, my fingers on the triggers of both guns in my hands.

One, two, breath. One, two, breathe.

I took one last moment.

"… Goodbye, Jeff." His shell didn't answer me I busted out of the door, shooting any nearby Walker and running as fast as my body could allow me.

Running towards my sanctuary.

Running towards Atlanta.

_xxx_

**A/N: Review, please! Love y'all, thanks for waiting!**


	5. White Wedding

**Warning: This chapter is pretty graphic.**

_**Chapter Five: White Wedding**_

_xxx_

I had no idea why I believed it would all go away once I reached Atlanta.

I had no idea why I took Jeff's words of salvation and ran with them, thinking I'd be protected and provided for. I had no idea why there was any faith left in me when everything I had known, from society to the people that had structured it, were gone. I had no idea why I couldn't just accept that I was utterly alone.

Time didn't matter to me anymore.

I was just as dead as everything else.

_xxx_

_**4 Months Later**_

"… What the **hell **is he **doing**!"

Glenn looked on incredulously as a testament to the past made his way down Peachtree Street—a damn Sheriff atop a reigned horse. For a minute he wanted to laugh, thinking maybe his sanity must have finally slapped him in the face and walked away, that the sheriff was an illusion. Then he entertained the idea of a one-man rescue team… a thin, pale cop on a horse? _Psh, some rescue team._

But the scene below never dissipated from an illusion, and he was clearly by himself, his expression reading that of a timid and truly lost man. _Wait… he's not going…_

"No. No no, oh no…" he whispered under his breath.

The sheriff was headed straight for the corner of Peachtree and Spring Street, where a grisly death awaited him should he turn and capture the attention of the hordes of Walkers that loomed in the middle of the city.

"Leave 'im. Copper wants t'be a fuckin' moron, then let 'im die a fuckin' moron. That kinda mind ain't fit to live."

Glenn never took anything Merle had to say too seriously. Most of it was just racist and degrading junk, but in this case, it was hard to argue with his 'logic', per say. Maybe the sheriff had given up hope? Maybe he wanted to die. Still, Glenn couldn't shake his urge to reach out to the man who was one of many that once upheld the old-world laws. "We're just… we're just going to let him die?"

"We can't go down there without risking ourselves," the blonde Andrea shook her head, casting a pitiful look to the man below. "Whatever he's here for, helping him is not an option. We have our priorities, and we have to get back to the others." With that, she descended back into the floors of the department store to continue the search for resources with Morales and Jacqui.

Merle's eyes followed her like a hawk's piercing gaze upon prey, his tongue slithering out and licking his bottom lip. Glenn wrinkled his nose in disgust, but turned away quickly when Merle's eyes darted in his direction. "Th' fuck you lookin' at, Chinaman?" Glenn swallowed audibly, and thought it best not respond. "Hey, Kim Duck Dong! I'm talkin' to ya—"

"Man, just leave him alone" T-Dog spoke up, and the younger man desperately wished he hadn't. "He ain't doin' nothing."

Something sinister danced in those hateful eyes now, and Merle gave a snicker before spitting on the floor, his grip on his rifle tightening. "Minority uprisin', or what? Who'da thought the antique plantation equipment and the Buddhahead would team up."

Glenn had to hand it to the overbearing redneck: the racial slurs got pretty creative sometimes. Too bad he was neither Chinese **nor** Buddhist… there'd be no point in telling him that, though.

"The fuck did you say, cracker?" T-Dog bit back.

Glenn slapped a hand over his eyes. Apparently, T-Dog didn't follow the whole "two wrongs don't make a right" belief. This was only—

The panicked neigh of the horse pierced the tense air, and despite the sheriff's nightmarish new situation, Glenn couldn't help but feel relief that the attention had turned back to the scene below. Disturbingly enough, Merle seemed to take some kind of humor out of it. "Heeee, look'it that pig run! Run, ya dumb bastard!"

Glenn chewed his lip nervously as the sheriff dropped to the pavement, quickly surrounded by Walkers. Somehow in the frenzy, he managed to kick off a few and scurried under the unmoving military tank—a narrow escape only made possible in thanks to his horse that became the long-awaited, unfortunate feast. He also spied the police department duffel bag that now lay in the street, and his heart sped up with the hope that the sheriff might be in possession of multiple weapons. _If he had come here to die, then he wouldn't have run; if he had come here to die, he wouldn't have brought that bag with him._ As soon as he saw the sheriff pop up from the top of the tank and close the hatch before any Walkers could join him inside, Glenn made his choice. "I'm helping him" he looked to T-Dog, who stared back at him in bewilderment. "I don't know about you, but I want to go to bed with a clear conscious tonight, and I'm not going to get that sleep if I leave a breathing guy in trapped in that tank to die when we're **right here**." Before either man could say anything to ridicule the idea, Glenn doubled back, scooped up a wireless walkie-talkie, and sped off.

The boy took a deep breath before descending the steel fire escape down the side of the building, thankful that there was a fence separating the alley from the madness on Peachtree Street. Taking brief refuge behind a dumpster, Glenn fidgeted with the knob of the walkie-talkie until it tuned into the tank's radio frequency, stopping when he hit the clear signal. "Hey you… dumbass." He resisted the urge to laugh in spite of his nervousness, pressing further when he didn't get an immediate response. "Yeah, you in the tank. Cozy in there?" For a few minutes, all Glenn could hear was tearing of the meat being stripped from the horse's bones. He hadn't seen it, but… what if the sheriff had gotten hurt? "Hey, you alive in there?" he tried again.

"H-hello! Hello!" A crackle of life in the form of a Southern accent finally responded, and Glenn let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"There you are. You had me wondering…"

"Where are you? Outside? Can you see me right now?" The voice barreled him with multiple questions at once, increasing Glenn's anxiety.

"Yeah, I can see you. You're surrounded by Walkers… that's the bad news."

"There's good news?" There was almost humor in the reply.

"… No." Glenn could hardly hesitate his honesty.

"Listen, whoever you are, I don't mind telling you I'm a little concerned in here."

The boy momentarily spaced out as he edged toward the street, fascinated at being so close to the atrocious scene and remain undetected. "Oh man… you should see them over here. You'd be having a **major** freak out."

His observation did little to amuse the sheriff. "Got any advice for me?"

That was a no-brainer. "Yeah—I'd say make a run for it."

A pause. "… That's it? Make a run for it?"

"It's not as dumb as it sounds!" Glenn insisted. "You got eyes on the outside here. There's one geek still up on the tank, but the others have climbed down to join… the **feeding frenzy **where the horse went down. You with me so far?"

"So far."

"Okay," he continued, "the street on the other side of the tank is less crowded. If you move now while they're distracted, you stand a chance. Got it?"

"Hey man, the duffel bag I dropped out there had guns. Can I get to it?" Glenn was glad to have affirmation about his hunch, but knew there was no chance of getting it at this moment.

"Forget the bag, it's not an option! What do you have on you?"

A much longer pause entailed the question, and a sheen of sweat began to form under the boy's already sticky hat as he waited. Then "I got a Biretta, with one clip- 15 rounds."

At least he had **something**. "Make 'em count. Jump off the right side of the tank, keep going that direction. There's an alley up the street maybe…" Glenn paused to make a quick estimate of the street, "50 yards. Be there."

"Hey… what's your name?"

_He really wants to do this __**now**__?_ "Have you been listening? You're running out of time!"

_**Click**__. _

Glenn froze. It was a sound not made from within the tank—the radio line had gone silent. It was the familiar click of the safety on a weapon.

"Put your hands up" a female voice demanded. Glenn did as commanded and raised his hands, but did not let go of the walkie-talkie. He didn't want to show fear, but his body betrayed him as it begun to shake. "Turn around," she instructed next. Glenn winced as he turned to face his threat, his panic rising when he heard the sound of shots as the sheriff headed in the alley's direction. He locked eyes with a girl no older than himself wielding a silver handgun that gleamed sinisterly in the sunlight. She couldn't have been taller than 5 foot 3, yet her dark brown eyes bore the resilience and strength of a person twice her size. Underneath the zip up sweater and leggings she wore was a thicker and sturdy build, very unlike the delicate, thin frames of Andrea and the women back at camp. Chestnut hair lighter than her eyes tumbled over her shoulders, frizzed by the Atlanta heat. Thick bangs were matted to her round, cinnamon brown face.

Glenn could not fathom having to fear both flesh-eating geeks and a girl with a gun in his face in one instance. Even after all he'd been through, **this** was just too damn much.

"You're gonna have to run—"

"What are you doing here—"

They both spoke at the same time, but the girl quieted to let him speak. "In 5 seconds, you're gonna have to run!" Glenn pleaded.

Her eyes narrowed, "What did you do, fuck face?"

The sheriff's footsteps rounded the corner of the alley, his Biretta ablaze as Glenn turned to face him. "DOOOON'T, NOT DEAD!" He cried out before the man could gun him down, "C'MON, C'MON!"

The girl's guarded expression fell, and all three took off down the alley with the dead hot on their heels. The girl sprinted ahead and pulled herself on top of a dumpster, pulled down the fire escape ladder to the building across from the department store, and began to climb. Glenn didn't take any cue to follow her, and called back to the sheriff. "Faster!"

Glenn latched on to the first steel bar in his reach and ambled up the ladder, his fellow escapee breath behind him. Neither stopped until the first break between the ladders was reached, allowing them to stand and rest as they looked down below. Rotted hands and hungry moans reached up towards them, clawing at the air, but the sheriff turned his attention across the alley way to the fire escape on the opposite building; the girl was pulling up the ladder, taking precaution that none of the Walkers suddenly get smart and try to climb up after her. She was panting heavily with her back against the brick of the building, and Glenn noticed another gleaming object that she picked up from the break of that building's fire escape ladder. She now wielded it in her left hand. _It's a… a scythe?_ Glenn wasn't sure, since he'd only seen such a weapon in the video games he played obsessively in his free time several months ago. But lo and behold, it was a curved blade attached to a crafted steel rod, gripped in her small hand.

Trying to regain control of her breath, she now looked back to them across the alley. "Hey!" The sheriff called out, "You alright? If you wait a bit, we'll find'a way to get ya back over here!"

The other male looked to him with a raised brow. "I just saved **you**, isn't that enough for one day!"

The older man looked back to him in disbelief, "You're just gonna leave your friend there?"

"I don't even know who she **is**!" Glenn protested. "She came up behind me and put a gun to my head, she didn't come here with me!"

The sheriff turned his gaze back to the female, still panting, and tried calling out to her one more time. "What's your name? You got others with you? We can—" his questions went unanswered as she ducked into the open window on the upper floor of the building complex, casting them one more wary gaze before she was out of sight.

"So much for that mission, huh?" Glenn wheezed, almost relieved at not having to go after someone else. A part of him felt bad, but she didn't seem to want the extended helping hand anyway… "I'm Glenn" he shakily introduced himself, his mentality turning back to the task of returning to the group within the department store.

The sheriff still had his sights on the open window where the girl had fled through, but turned back to his rescuer and held out his calloused and sweaty hand. "Rick Grimes."

_xxx_

It's not like I was **actually** going to shoot him.

Let's be honest: if I'd learned anything from being on my own thus far, I could give myself credit for understanding basic knowledge such as the bang of a gunshot being the same as ringing a dinner bell.

Instead, it was a conjured bluff, giving this stranger the impression that I was psychotic enough to blow his brains out right there on the street if he didn't answer my questions. I liked to think of it as an intimidation tactic of sorts- the more radical kind, obviously. As skinny and harmless as he looked, who's to say he wasn't one of the scavengers of Atlanta that was part of the free-rape-for-all movement that swept surviving men by storm when they realized the remaining living women "just weren't in the mood" as of recent? So they took it the only way they knew how. A shudder ran down my spine as I recalled hearing many a female scream at night, and I knew it was not solely from those that were caught by Walkers; these were women who'd foolishly trusted that a man would keep them safe- I even saw an assault on a rooftop once. Unfortunately, being two buildings away had left me essentially useless to the poor woman, and I turned away from the scene before I talked myself into a rescue mission that I knew would only result in my own rape and possible death. It was a terrifying thing not just to be a survivor in the apocalypse, but to be a **woman** in the apocalypse? Forget about it. My paranoia convinced me that I was gender-handicapped and had twice more to fear than a man did.

These days, I was in the "_better them than me_" kind of mindset. Well, not these days… more like these past months. I firmly believe that's the only reason why I'm still alive in a city overrun by the dead.

I sat perched on the windowsill in a room on the 12th floor of what was once an upscale apartment complex, shadowed behind the curtains of the window as I observed the Walkers below. I chewed on my bottom lip nervously (a habit not even the apocalypse could deter), unable to rid my mind of the fearful expression on the Asian boy's face.

It had been the first time in a very, **very** long time that I'd been in that close of a proximity to another living human being. Sure, I had seen the other survivors of Atlanta that had banded together—but I had only seen them from a distance. They darted through the city, wielding bats and knives, scavenging for the same resources I did. My point being though, as I'd overheard bits of his conversation through the wireless communicator… this boy had actually gone out of his way to save the strange one-man police force that stupidly marched down Peachtree Street.

_And I went and put a gun in his face.  
><em>

I sighed in frustration, pinching the bridge of my nose. I reeeally could've handled it better… but I guess my social skills weren't exactly intact anymore, even more so than they had been before the shit hit the fan.

Diminished social skills aside, I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss having someone around… especially since I had forced myself to forget about everything that happened before I came to Atlanta. What was the point in wallowing over all that I had lost? Tommy, David, and Darcy were dead, Jeff was dead, I'd even come to terms with Hank being dead. I snuffed out the flame of hope that burned in my heart for him long ago; he **had** to be dead. Most of those who joined the military (be it before or after the fucked up events of the world) had perished trying to save others and combatting the outbreak. I refused to believe he was alive.

Why?

Because if there was ever a chance that I'd find out some way that he really **had** died, and I hadn't come to think of it as a possibility, it'd kill me. I'd hate myself for not accepting it earlier on. So… Hank is dead, and that was that. I mourned for him the same weeks I mourned Jeff, then swallowed my grief and put it all behind me.

Only two things kept me going these days, the first and foremost reason being my family. I was convinced that my finicky mother would have stayed put and locked up herself, my stepdad, and my sister in the house in the Atlanta suburbs the moment things got really bad. If they left, then my sister would have written me or left a clue there to let me know where they retreated to. Call it gut-feeling, call it intuition, call it foolishness, but I was absolutely **compelled** to stay in Atlanta until I found some way to get to the house. I told myself… whether or not they were alive… _I had to know_. It'd been 4 months, but no matter what plan I crafted and mapped out, I could never seem to pin down a solid way in and out. Mind you that I am a self-taught combatant that has no back up whatsoever… and I want to _live_, dammit. That's where my second reason came in—to live the long life that Jeff and the others couldn't anymore. Out of everything else that I cast aside of him, all the happy memories and the painful ones, Jeff's last words were burned into my memory and built me into who I've become.

If I weren't alone and didn't constantly stand the risk of being killed any minute without others to ride it out with me, there was no getting to my family. So I waited.

What for? Hell if I know.

I keep trying to convince myself that I'm waiting to get stronger, to become braver. I trained myself every day with the scythe I now called my own, courtesy of a decked-out apartment I'd come across by chance, the second building I took shelter in.

I'd rummaged cautiously through a few of the rooms on each floor, dodging two floors I saw a handful of Walkers trudging through. I pricked my ears for any sign of life—er, _noise_, from the stairway I hid within. I took a bullet from the casing box and let it roll down the hallway to draw any lone Walkers out, and still nothing. I waited a few more minutes, only hearing the Walkers from the first two floors. Finally, I stepped out into the hall way, a glint of silver immediately caught my eye in one of the rooms on the 8th floor.

I had hit the jackpot.

The previous tenant had clearly been an exotic weapons fanatic or an action movie buff of some sort; his walls were covered with ninja stars, a katana, swords of all styles, shapes and sizes, other weaponry I couldn't even name… You'd think I was in a haven, and really, I did consider staying there. But I hadn't counted on finding the owner with his brains blown out on the floor of the master bedroom, a long rifle hanging from his ice-white hand. Even after I shut the door and slept on his couch that night, I didn't feel… _right_… staying there. I took what I needed from his cabinets, then turned to looking over his rather impressive collection. I wasn't very knife-handy, but kept one on me at all times anyway: I grabbed a shearing knife and a double-edged knife. I didn't bother with any of the crafted steel swords, which were too heavy me to lift easily and I knew would only slow me down if cornered by the dead or the competitive living. I picked up the bow and arrow he had on display, but put it back down when it didn't feel good to my grip. The ninja stars or small throwing knives? Pfft, forget it. I was a nervous aim as it was with a gun.

Then I saw it. A menacing weapon that looked so familiar… My eyes widened as the memory came to me. Before high school, right when I entered the 7th grade, books were a source of distraction for me to avoid trouble. Of the many stories I had read, The Tale of The Grim Reaper was just one of them. A skeleton dressed in a long black robe and carrying a large scythe, the Reaper has been the figure of death since the beginning of time in various cultures. The purpose of the Reaper was to help people face their near and imminent death, and to guide them into the next life. Many believe he could even take the unwilling with his own weapon, or that he could be bribed or tricked to spare the life of the one he comes for. A chill swept down my spine as I stared at this piece from beyond Biblical times.

As awesome as it would have been, this scythe was definitely not old or ancient. The shining steel held my awed reflection within the long, curved blade; the staff it was cast into was made with detail and purpose, with a grip contouring the gorgeous iron for the best hold in a hand confident enough to use it… a hand such as The Grim Reaper.

Was I confident enough?

I opened the glass casing, reaching inside and pulling it out to hold in front of me. It was almost my height, but not quite... standing erect, it stretched from my feet to my chest. It wasn't as heavy as I'd feared, but I definitely needed to build up my strength to use it. I chewed my bottom lip, wondering if I should take it… I'd preserved the guns in the bag, swearing to myself that I'd never use them unless it was an emergency. I carried only two guns at my waist, only finding the need to use them a handful of times… but I'd already gone through a box of their bullets.

I ran my fingers over the entire weapon, and seeing my reflection once more in the blade, decided to claim it as my own. Not like the owner would miss it, anyway.

Since that day, I trained myself, and I mean I trained **hard**. For all I knew, I taught myself the completely wrong way to use a scythe, but I was living in a world where you had to make due with what you had for yourself. Clearly, it's worked out for me… I've survived near-starvation, being chased down by Walkers, and the draining pain of loneliness. I'm alive, I think almost 4 months after my ordeal.

It felt like years.

That could've changed today if I hadn't hauled ass back up the building across from that department store. Again, I counted my blessings- if there really was a God, he wanted me alive for **some** reason, because there had been plenty of chances I could've gotten killed.

I came back from my thoughts into reality, seeing the sun begin to set. Walkers became even more active at night, a crippling threat to anyone stupid enough to go out scavenging at this time. I pinned the curtains shut, sat down for a quick dinner of two full servings of canned of cocktail fruit, then did a re-check of the locks on the front door and the loose bolts on my escape window if I needed to make a quick dash from my current roost. Gun under the pillow, check. Scythe in reaching range, check. Water bottles and canned food in the messenger bag, check. Gun bag under the kitchen sink, check.

Checks, re-checks, constantly checking… is this what my life would be like until I died?

I had arranged the couch cushions into a makeshift bed on the floor of the living room with a blanket from the bedroom: I didn't sleep in rooms anymore, not wanting to risk a surprise attack through the front door should someone or something find a way in. I lowered myself onto the cushions, staring up at the ceiling because sleep never came easily. Sometimes it took hours… I was constantly aware, never able to afford a moment's weakness. The good thing was this place was much more low-key than my previous nests had been… but I could still hear the thousands of moans and groans on the streets below. There was nothing I could do to drown that out, ever.

And try as I might to push my past behind me, I could never fight the dreams that came to me… and tonight, I dreamed of Hank's warm mouth on mine.

_xxx_

The next morning, I made the decision to pilfer through the department store that I'd skipped out on when I ran into the Asian boy. I didn't go near it before since Walkers swarmed the front and sides of the building, but yesterday's horse feast had moved most of the masses scavenging further north of Peachtree Street. There was still some around obviously, but it should be clear enough to get through without the trouble it would've been yesterday.

I made my way from building to building by alleys and fire escape ladders, avoiding the monsters below by sticking to the rooftops, typically not taking chances in the actual buildings themselves unless I saw a completely clear floor. It was physically strenuous for me at first, and there were times where I thought I should just off myself because I was sure I'd never meet the stamina demands of the new world. I was close once, _very_ close. I picked up Jeff's pistol, the very gun I'd blown his head off with, and stared hard at the sleek thing. I never turned it to myself; I merely sat there with it in my hand for hours.

But Jeff's face flashed before my eyes, bloody and crying and pleading.

I tossed the gun to the side and never contemplated suicide again. It was cowardly, and Jeffery hated cowards.

After that, through sheer determination, will power, and plenty of crying, I broke through my own self-restraints and doubts. In a matter of weeks, I had adjusted my body to handling the amounts of exercise it was enduring. I found myself losing weight faster than I thought possible, not just from the shortage of burgers to stuff my face with, but with the constant climbing and running, I became toned. I was sure no stick figure, though, as I'd kinda hoped to be. My pear shape was still evident on my body, just waaaaay less cushioning. I couldn't tell you exactly how much I lost, though. I don't know and never bothered looking around for a scale. That's just narcissistic… I think.

As I jumped and sprinted from ladder to ladder, I stopped to catch my breath on the open-windowed floor I had escaped through yesterday, and poked my head out carefully to survey the area.

Whoa. Only two Walkers in the alley in contrast to the spine-chilling flood yesterday? This really _was_ my lucky day to come. I jumped down into the alley, quickly severing the head of the Walker closest to me, then swinging the blade upwards and landing the second Walker's brain through his jaw. I strapped the scythe to my back once more and ambled up the ladder before I could be seen be the others trudging the front of the building. Climbing, climbing… almost… I swung my leg over the ledge on the rooftop, surveying the seemingly empty expanse before bringing my other leg over. I walked over to the door that was supposed to lead into the lower floors of the department store, but found entrance chained. I frowned, figuring this must have been done when the chaos first started. "Well, off to find another way…" I muttered to myself.

I turned to cross the rooftop to the other side and see if I could scale through another entrance, stopped abruptly. My mouth suddenly went dry, and I felt my stomach lurch my measly breakfast of cold canned beans this morning—

There, lying underneath a large pipe, was a severed hand. A white human hand, one that has seen little decay and lied near a pool of freshly spilled blood. Maybe not too fresh… there was some slight, dark discoloration to it, a sign of drying. A few feet away from the hand was a bloodied hacksaw, and as my eyes raked for handless owner, I detected the glint of silver on the pipe. Handcuffs dangled there, blood staining the rimmed edge. I put things together, and could only imagine the horrible truth of what happened here.

The second stomach lurch was so strong, I couldn't keep the beans down; I chucked on the side of the pipe.

After breathing exercises and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I felt the need to get away as fast as possible. I didn't want to stay here a minute longer. I raced to the other side of the ledge of the rooftop, seeing a choice of various windows to break into. No need to make all kinds of noise though, to my relief. The window third to last window pane on the right hand side was left ajar. I scurried down the ladder and boosted myself into the window, taking a quick look around before I set foot inside. When I saw the coast was clear, I jumped in, landing with a quiet _thump_.

Not quiet enough, I guess. A Walker, once a lean, tall woman, that lingered behind the large cabinet of a desk area charged at me, and I barely had enough time to tear the strap of my scythe off. It was too close, so much so that I threw myself onto my back to avoid her bite and swung the scythe, the force strong enough to severe through both of her calves. She fell to the floor on her stomach, and before she could figure out the mechanics to crawl after me, I stood and brought my blade down on her rotted head. The Walker gave one final snarl and ceased moving.

I used to hate the sound the sound of the impact the blade made with flesh, but time and practice had toughened my eardrums as it had the rest of my body and mind.

I saw something jutting out of the pocket of what used to be nice dress pants, and reached down to retrieve it from her body… it was her worker I.D.

She was Connie Blake, a pretty blonde who looked like she had maybe been in her mid-twenties who had been a sales associate at the designer wing of this department store. I couldn't help but notice the large engagement ring adorning her finger, but no wedding band—she never made it to her wedding day. I shook my head before feeling bad about her demise at my hand. I had to remind myself that I did not kill Connie Blake, that she died a long time ago, and I put her soulless shell out of its' miserable existence. I placed her I.D. on the desk, walking further into the store past the desks and scattered papers.

There was little to nothing for me on the first floor, it seemed. Just multiple offices and closed doors to more offices, doors I dared not open when I heard scuffling behind a few of them. I found two water bottles, a candy bar, and a moldy sandwich in a small fridge that was no longer running. I stuffed the warm water bottles into my messenger and adjusting back to the side of my body. I turned my attention to descending the still escalator, intent on searching each floor until I find something worth the trip here. Reaching the second floor below, I saw three Walkers stumbling about. One was severely handicapped by the guts spilling out of his stomach, his feet tangling on innards and tripping him as he walked. The other two seemed to be in low spirits, thin with starvation.

Easy kills, I hoped. As always, I dispatched the one closest to me, a Walker so disfigured in the face I could not tell his ethnicity. Next was the gutless wonder, whose dull eyes did not light up as I approached swiftly. He must've been this way for so long, he'd given up his instinct to pursue. I brought the blade down on his skull and he slumped to the floor. The final was a black-haired woman with her throat ripped out; she was the most eager of the trio, and disturbed me when she kept moving even after I cut her in half. I brought the blade down between her eyes, ending her pitiful shrieks of hunger.

I took in the clothes and items around me, and realized I was in what should have been Connie Blake's section—the wedding dresses, along with shoes, bridesmaid gowns, tuxes for grooms, beautiful accessories, the whole shebang. I couldn't help but become distracted by the masses of expensive fabrics and luxurious colors of white, ivory, gold, and everything in between.

I suddenly felt a lump rise in my throat without the slightest clue as to why. I passed through the isles, seeing that the dresses cost anywhere from five hundred to thousands of dollars, and stopped at one in particular that stood out to me. It was a fitted cap-sleeved white dress made with gorgeous tulle. The silver flowers embroidered into the tulle and the sheer lace back, also stitched with a floral design, made the gown whimsical and romantic. Call me a sap, but if I had ever had the blind luck to find a guy crazy enough to propose to me, this dress would have been the one I'd wear down the isle.

… There it was. That lump in my throat again, and I knew why this time. I felt sad for Connie Blake, and in a more selfish sense, myself. Maybe Connie had already picked out her dress… maybe she was getting married within a week's time. Maybe she had already dreamed of her married life, with children and a beautiful home. And just like Connie, I would never have any of that either. It's not like I gave much thought to it in my old life, but now it was haunting me. At least Connie was close… I didn't even have some semblance of a boyfriend at the time. I trailed my fingers down the beautiful bodice, my sadness that I carefully tucked away rising from my heart again.

_I'll never be a bride. I'll never be someone's wife. I'll never be a mother._

I suddenly had a notion, a snap sense of poor decision making… a surge of selfishness. Looking around one last time, I immediately removed my messenger bag and leaned my scythe against a dress rack. I quickly stripped off my clothes, standing in just a bra, then took the dress from the rack and pulled it over my head. Even with my sized-down figure, the dress fit a bit awkwardly on me—the bust was too large, the waist a little tight, and the excessive length was clearly made for a much taller girl. Who the fuck's body did they make this for, Heidi Klum? Either way, I got it on, and it was every bit as beautiful as it had been on display. I stared at the frazzled girl in the mirror wearing a $7,000 wedding gown… and for the first time in months, smiled. No makeup, no hair style, yet I thought I'd never look better than I did now wearing this dress. I did a small twirl, pausing to check out the breathtaking detail on the sheer back. I turned to face the mirror again, Jeff's gold crucifix gleaming in the daylight cast on the mirror… and with a light rush of blood to my cheeks, I thought of my dream last night. Hank Prior... I occasionally allowed myself to think of my family, once in a while Jeffery, but never Hank. Yet I could still feel his kiss on my lips, his tongue in my mouth, his hands on my face. He had been right… it was a mix of pain and uplifting to have something nice like that for a memory. It was the last good thing I could remember. If the world hadn't gone to shit… would something have happened for Hank and I? I was suddenly reading in to every memory I had of him, from the time he declined a girl inviting him to her apartment in favor of staying with me at a coffee house next to the bar, to the time he bandaged up and playfully kissed my knee when I once fell off of Jeff's bike. Was that kiss for the sake of a good memory, or had he really cared for me the way I did for him? Would we have married, and had children? I'll never know. I'll never…

A door bust open. My first instinct was to run for my scythe and scurry behind a rack of wedding gowns. I refused to be caught by surprise, and remained focused on controlling my breathing. Walkers?

"I don't think there's any in here" I heard a male voice whisper

Definitely not Walkers.

"Well then, th' fuck we waitin' for, permission?" I heard a different voice respond.

Another voice, "Hold up, Dixon. We so ain't sure yet. Look around."

_Three men? _

My heart sped up and my panic threatened to take control of me. I felt sweat beginning to bead on my forehead, and dared to sneak a peek from behind the dress rack: black boots and faded blue jeans carefully made their way two isles down from where I hid. All my possible options wracked my brain at once, but everything in my body was telling me to make a run for it. If they caught me, I'd definitely put up a fight despite the predictable outcome of one girl against three men… but that's _if _they could catch me. I'd come back for my messenger bag later. I had to run now, before the boots in my sight got any closer. Gathering up the edge of the dress and gripping my scythe as though my very life depended on it, I bolted.

And let me tell you, it is _not _easy running in the damn thing. Leave it to me to make the short-minded decision to put on a wedding dress today… life seemed funny like that.

"Hey!" I heard one of them call out, shock evident in his voice. "Hey, wait a goddamn minute!"

I kept running, dashing through an isle past another figure who didn't react quickly enough to me. _Oh God no, four of them!_ I didn't slow down and streaked up the escalator so fast, I was sure I'd have time to throw myself out the window onto the escape ladder. But when I realized it'd be all too difficult for me to get through the window in this dress, I cursed myself and ducked under one of the many desks in the I came through. I once again focused on my breathing, trying hard to slow it down into a palpable silence.

One of them came crashing through the doorway, a string of curses no doubt aimed at me. "Where are ya? I already saw ya dumbass, ain't no point in hidin'!"

I was trapped like a damn rat. He had three other guys with him, it wouldn't take them long before they found me. As I heard the footsteps of the rest of his group join him, my only chance was to run back to the lower level and keep going until I lost them or they gave up. I could think of nothing else. They squabbled with one another, but I paid no mind to their words, only thinking of myself. I wanted to avoid a confrontation at all cost, because it might very well spare my life if they had weapons too. I tightened my grasp on my lifeline once again, preparing to shoot straight out of the doorway I held in my sights—

"What'sa matter, honey? Got cold feet on yer big day?" I looked up from my hiding place under the desk and held the piercing, judging blue gaze of a man wielding a crossbow, its' arrow aimed straight between my eyes.

God had kept me alive so far. Yet as I lie here, crouched to the carpet of an abandoned office in a $7,000 wedding dress with a man pointing a lethal weapon at my head, I was sure it was because God had a strange sense of humor and wasn't through humiliating me just yet.

_xxx_

**A/N: And there ya have it. This chapter was quite fun! As the story unfolds, you'll further see into just exactly how Rita survived when she first came into the city. I'm so excited to write about the other character's drama-llama as well. Mind you, I love reviews! Thanks for your patience, I'll be updating soon. Til' next time!**


	6. Southern Gentlemen

**A/N: Many apologies for the lack of updates! My laptop contracted a virus, and when I took it to get repaired, the dude said the only way to clean it was to nuke the entire thing. I agreed, even though it was too late to save all my files… everything I had ever written was gone, and I had written a LOT more besides this story. When I finally got my laptop back, I was so sad that all my work was wiped out, I wasn't inspired to keep writing. I actually thought about not finishing it… but, my desire to get back on track was even greater. So I hope you, my reviewers, are still around to see my return. Thanks for everything thus far, you guys.**

**Alright, let's get this show on the road!**

_**Chapter Six: Southern Gentlemen**_

_**xxx**_

When I was a little girl, my dad and I travelled a lot.

As I mentioned, he was a major hippie all his life, and most of all he loved taking me places that were nearly untouched by the destructive nature of mankind—his absolute favorite being national parks. Deserts, mountains, you name it. Even though it was years ago, I could still retain those memories as clear as if they'd happened yesterday. Memories of lush green landscapes, memories of pure expanses of water that reflected the sky like a mirror, memories of endless jagged roads that wove through the snow-capped ruptures of the earth, memories of real and honest beauty that time had always seemed kind towards.

You'd think all that time I spent outdoors in my childhood, I'd be a completely different person then the prude I had become before the world ended. There's a reason, though… a reason why I was robbed of becoming someone else, someone I might've liked better and someone who might've been better equipped than I was now.

For my 8th birthday, my dad took me out to the Mojave Desert, intent on showing me the wonder that was Joshua Tree National Park. The entire way down to southern California, I had begged him to go to the mountains since it was the snowy season, yet my complaints were of no use. The man was set on Mojave, saying I needed to give a new place a try. I had no choice, anyway: so there I was, a chubby, crying little punk sweating in the daytime of the desert, then shivering to the bone at night.

On our second night camping out in the large tent, settled beneath one of the oddly twisted trees that the park was named for, I snuck out into the night. I didn't intend on going far, just far enough to try and spy the non-threatening wildlife that crawled out at night. Lizards would get into territory fights, prairie dogs would begin turning in for slumber, and most fascinating of all was the uncommon tortoise that slowly made its' way into the rock formations for shelter.

No matter how much I yanked my sweater tighter to my body, my teeth chattered in the cold as I spied them all from a distance with my low-wattage flashlight. The wildlife, I decided, was really the only thing I liked about the desert.

What I didn't count on was the menacing echo of what sounded like toy beads being shook within a cylinder casing, a loud and frightening sound that came from the right hand side of my perch on a boulder. I looked down, not realizing my biggest mistake was my sudden jerking movement as my flashlight landed on it.

There, coiled up for an attack, was a red diamond-backed rattlesnake.

_The eyes_. They shined like bronze, searing into me with an expressiveness that was eerily human- guarded, hateful, and unafraid.

My second huge mistake was screaming.

It launched itself at me, biting into my left thigh. I fell onto my back, my flashlight rolling away from my hand as soon as I hit the ground. By then, I could hear my father's hiking boots pounding into the sand and dirt, crying out my name.

The rest was a blur, that exact same feeling of disconnect that came over me after I killed what used to be Mrs. Jenkins.

I woke up in the hospital. My dad told me we hadn't been too far off from a tourist camp-base, and they radioed a medical helicopter that saved my life. My father sat next to my hospital bed in an ugly chair, holding my small hand to his mouth as he sobbed. My mother stood in the background talking to a stiff-postured doctor, her fingers loosely gripping the handles of my baby sister's stroller. My 3-year-old June-bug was asleep, her sweet face peaceful as her tiny chest rose and fell. I could hear the doctor telling my mom they were fortunate that they were able to extract the venom from my body on time, and still be able to keep my leg.

_Oh, my leg_... It resonated with sharp pain, especially my thigh. It hurt so badly, but I knew if I cried from the ache, it'd only upset my father more. So I forced a smile and said, "It's okay, daddy."

I guess it did little to comfort him. It was my fault for stupidly meandering off into the night, but my dad blamed himself for what happened to me. He never took me to out towards the wildlife again.

I never forgot the eyes of that snake.

I never thought I'd have to see those eyes again.

And lo and behold—here before me stood the red diamond-backed rattlesnake in towering human form. Eyes bluer than the sky, but holding the **exact** same expressions that made my throat close up…

_Guarded. Hateful. Unafraid._

I was finally brought out of my haze by the man's harsh growl, "Put yer weapon down, if y'know what's good fer you. Ain't nowhere to run."

His bolt was still aimed between my eyes, and I had the feeling he wouldn't hesitate to release the quiver if I made a wrong move. Despite my current position, I tried to keep my expression neutral—I wouldn't let him or the other men see how terrified I truly was, that wouldn't help me at all. I even tried to make myself laugh a little (internally, of course). Usually when someone sets up the scenario of four men closing in on a girl in a wedding dress, it sounds like the beginning of a really bad porno, right? Yeah.

… okay, that didn't help either.

I had yet to say something, and the rattlesnake-man was still scowling down at me expectantly. I heard the footfalls of another one of them coming around the desk, and this one lowered himself down until he sat on his heels, connecting his gaze with mine as well; I was surprised to see this man was the sheriff that had escaped a grisly death, courtesy of the boy in the alley. It seemed he recognized me as well, his eyes widening just a bit. "Glenn…" he said, motioning with his hand for what I assumed another man to come over.

I felt my grip tightening on the scythe, and even though my head screamed that there was no getting out of this, the rest of my body told me only one thing: _fight __**and**__ flight. _It had to be both if I was going to live.

I didn't think about it anymore.

As soon as I heard the steps of the third man, I swung up the rounded iron-end of my scythe. It clacked loudly against the rattlesnake-man's bow, throwing his stance off balance. I also caught the sheriff by surprise as he narrowly dodged my swing, landing hard on his back by doing so. The quiver released, the bolt lodging itself into the ceiling of the office, followed by a string of colorful language that no doubt spewed from the mouth of the wielder.

That's when I took off.

I ran out of the office, intent on going back down to the lower levels and either finding a better hiding space, or an uncomplicated exit. The former seemed to be the clearer choice as I neared the wedding dresses, a quick scan of the floor not showing an immediate escape unless I descended down another escalator to a lower level.

"Ay, you lil' shit!" I heard a bellow coming from behind me. I looked up to see the archer blazing down the escalator, his face and neck flushed scarlet with rage. I could hear the other men ambling after him but not quite keeping up, one of them chiding him to calm down. Well, no time to hide now…

I picked up speed as far as my body could withstand, headed for the next set of escalators and hoping they'd give up once I was out of sight—and as soon as my heart flitted with the assurance that I'd get away unscathed, I went crashing face-first into the floor. My arms flailed out and endured most the impact instead of my body, my cheek smacking painfully on the white linoleum that met the carpet lining. My scythe went skidding on the floor, out of my reach and essentially useless to me. I pitied myself for a second when I realized that I had been but a mere five feet away from the first step of the escalator.

I heard the angry gasp of air leave my lungs as I attempted to force myself back on my feet, only to feel a forceful tug yank me back to the ground. I made the mistake of turning around, sucking in air at the sight behind me: the infuriated rattlesnake-man was right there on the floor with me, his crossbow slung on his back and a fistful of my extravagant attire in his white-knuckled grasp. The fingers on his left hand seemed a bit swollen and slightly purple, signs of surfacing bruises—the iron-end of my scythe hadn't hit his crossbow directly, it had smashed his fingers against it.

Fuck this dress.

We were quickly surrounded by the others: one was a thickly-built African-American man with uncertain eyes carrying a wrench, the other carrying a backpack and wearing a cap that I recognized as the shaky Asian boy from the alley, and finally, the sheriff.

The yanking persisted, this time even stronger as the archer bundled up another fistful of my dress in his previously unoccupied hand, pulling me towards him as my nails clawed audibly against the carpet. It was of no use fighting to crawl away, I still slid along the floor. "Th' fuck is wrong with ya!? You better start talkin', runaway bride, ya tell me if you got more chicken shits wit' ya, or I'll—"

"That's **enough**, Dixon" the firm voice of the sheriff was enough to make the man on the floor pause, if only for a split second, and he turned his searing gaze towards him. Unfortunately, he remained mindful to keep me in place.

"I don't gotta listen to you, you ain't nuthin' to me!" he seethed. "Ya only came 'cause you felt like shit for doin' what you did, and **trust** me, that don't make it alright!"

"You don't lower your voice down, you're gonna call in every walker left in this building" the sheriff kept a level voice, seemingly unfazed by his bristling counterpart. Before the other man could snap in response, he turned to me. "You done?"

I remained silent, considering the sheriff with the weary blue eyes, but patient face. My breathing was coming in and out so fast, my body was shaking. It was a dead giveaway of what I had wanted to obscure from them: my unrelenting fear. I couldn't help but think, though, that if any of them truly intended the kind of harm I feared most from the surviving men, they would've done the deed already without any exchange of words.

I let out a breath, regaining some control over my trembling composure, and said the first thing I thought of: "Tell your dog to get off me, and I'll be done."

"Th' fuck you jus' call me!?" he snapped, his grip on the hem of the dress tightening.

"We're not gonna sort this out if you're stokin' the fire, miss" the sheriff interrupted again. "We don't mean any harm. We're here lookin' for somebody in our group." The more he spoke, the less rigid my body became. I wasn't completely at ease, of course, but definitely better.

"You alone?" the black man spoke up, no doubt voicing his biggest concern.

I looked to him for a minute, and just like that, it hit me.

I'd known it for months… I knew I was alone. But to hear someone else say it… felt even worse.

I swallowed back the sudden lump in my throat, licking my lips and glancing over at my scythe still strewn near the escalator. "No wonder you put a gun in my face," the boy in the cap spoke this time, his observant eyes frowning towards me, "you **are** alone. Aren't you?" It was probably stupid of me to admit it, but I'd made too long of a pause to say otherwise at this point. I looked to the ground, away from each pair of eyes that watched and waited for my answer. I swallowed again, and nodded my head.

Something reverberated between the three men that remained standing; fascination, perhaps. I saw the Asian boy lean forward and say something incoherent near the sheriff's ear. The only one still keeping an untrusting eye on me was the rattlesnake-man, who had since released my dress and rose to one knee, his right hand on the hilt of a hunting knife tucked in his belt. There's no way I'd run now. An open hand was suddenly in front of my face—the sheriff was offering to help me up. I sighed, my fear still deep-seated in my chest, but aware that I could've run into a worse group.

I accepted his extended hand, and he pulled me up.

I was unnerved when he didn't let go of my hand right away, instead, he shook it. "I'm Rick Grimes. This here's T-Dog, Glenn, and Daryl." He motioned to each individual with a nod of his chin, and I noticed that once he retracted from our greeting, he returned his hand to the gun on his hip; he still was unsure of me, too. He was just better at hiding it. "And you?"

I hesitated, but still felt the warmth from his hand in my palm: it was the first physical contact from another human being I'd had since Jeff died. I almost forgot how wonderful something as simple as touch was, something I took for granted a long time ago. I ran a nail from a digit on my left hand on the palm of my right one as I murmured "Rita. Rita Fuentes."

"Well, Rita" the sheriff spoke again, "You, uh… got some regular clothes?"

I winced at that, biting my lower lip in embarrassment. "Uh, yeah I do… they're over by, um… where I picked this out…" I motioned over to the rack in the corner.

"Tell you what," Rick continued, "You go on over there and get dressed. Can't very well outrun a Walker without all that you're wearin' without bein' a hassle, right?"

"Faired well 'nough outrunnin' y'all" the man Daryl growled. "I say let her keep wearin' it 'n go on lookin' like a goddamn moron."

I didn't acknowledge his snide comment, I didn't even look his way. I was intent on keeping my cool and focusing on communicating with Rick. "Who are you looking for?"

"Mah brother," Daryl interjected yet again, staring me down. "These half-wits left 'im on the roof. I ain't got the time for good ol' _Officer Grimes_" he put a distasteful stress on the label, daring to look the policeman in the eye, "to be ridin' in fer some fuckin' nutcase."

Without another word, he turned and stalked off back to the escalator leading to the upper floors. I stared after him, hearing Glenn scoff to the side, "He whines and whines, and here **we** are, saving **his** nutcase of a brother."

"Family's family, don't matter if they ain't the best people" T-Dog muttered guiltily, shaking his head. "They showed up with no one but each other. Bet that loon's all he's got left."

_Family. _Images of my dad, my mom, and my June-bug flashed in my mind.

"You two, follow 'im. Make sure he don't draw any more attention to us" Rick motioned in the direction Daryl had gone. Glenn sighed in exasperation and headed towards the escalator, T-Dog simply shrugging and following suit.

I watched the odd exchange between the men, and it wasn't until the other two were out of sight that I turned back to Rick and asked, "You said the roof?"

"Yeah," Rick nodded. "Merle… he got outta hand. High on whatever cocktail he had in his pocket, shootin' 'n puttin' others at risk. I didn't see any other choice but to handcuff 'im to the roof." I froze, and it didn't go unseen by him. "You seen 'im? A man on the roof?"

"Not… exactly." I paused, unsure of how to tell him that he wasn't going to find this missing man Merle—not all of him. "I think… I think you better go up there."

Rick regarded me carefully, and it clicked that he wasn't sure if he should leave me alone. For all he knew, I was a threat, and the minute he turned his back, I was capable of anything.

Honestly, I **was** capable of anything. But he let me go, all of them did. They made it clear they weren't here for me. This man in uniform in particular had given me no reason to fight back, not anymore, and it'd stay that way so long as they continued not to give me a reason.

"You said so yourself… I better get changed."

He hesitated a moment longer, looking over to the rack where I'd pointed to my clothes, then to my scythe on the floor. "I take it you won't be here when we come back?"

"Probably not" I said honestly.

He chewed his lower lip, sighed one last time, then turned and began to walk towards the escalator. He called over his shoulder, "I'm trustin' my gut on this. Don't make me regret leavin' you on your own. You're a woman, but if you try anythin'…" he stopped on a step, turning back to look me in the eyes again, a hard look within his blue ones, "I won't stall to retaliate. My family… I have a wife and son to get back to." He resumed his path, reached the top of his ascension, and he was out of sight.

_Family._

I stared at the empty escalator, unbelieving of the things that had just occurred, unbelieving that'd I'd just had semi-civil human contact.

I still felt the warmth of his hand in mine.

_**xxx**_

**A/N: Things are about to get crazy, and I am SO ready for it. Review please—can't say it enough, they keep me going. Thanks guys!**


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